


Lucky

by EightLeggedFox



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23410597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EightLeggedFox/pseuds/EightLeggedFox
Summary: At twenty-six, Park Jihoon pretty much has everything bagged in his career as a top-tier idol and an A-list actor. Awards upon accolades, trophies and opportunities—everything the industry could ever offer.So why does he still find himself crying at night over a boy he used to sing and dance with from over seven years ago?
Relationships: Kang Daniel/Park Jihoon
Comments: 22
Kudos: 75





	1. Happier

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this from what's possibly my favorite Britney song lol

“And the Oscar for best actor goes to—Jihoon Park!”

The thunder of applause hits him first even before the mention of his name sinks into his well of comprehension. He looks up at the overhead screen just to make sure that it truly is his face being blown up for the whole auditorium to see, looking wild with joy and a smile that would easily tear at his cheeks if stretched any wider. 

He starts to get up, which takes a fair amount of effort since his knees are quite literally beginning its metamorphosis into mush as he launches himself off his seat. He succeeds by a hair and goes to give a hug to his co-star on his left and shake hands with his director right next to her. He gives a one-armed hug to his manager-hyung lastly before walking along the aisle to step up on the glittering expanse of the stage. 

The applause never stops even after the small statue of the golden man is passed to him and rests in his hands. The spotlight doesn’t wane or dim and if anything, just seems to illuminate his place on the pedestal all that much more prominently. He feels tears prickling at the base of his eyelids, threatening to gush out in an emotional waterfall but he holds it in; keeping a professional expression and swallowing down the raw lump he feels forming at his throat so he can start giving his speech.

His voice still comes out wobbly though, and a tear does manage to escape his eyes during his rundown of gratitude for the academy and for people who helped get him up here. He’s glad to at least have retained his presence of mind not to forget any English or any of the names he wants to mention tonight, which in itself is well-deserving of a pat on the back that he feels is comparable to the achievement he's holding in his hands now.

He ends with a gracious bow to the audience, a short sentence of thanks in his mother-tongue, before he flashes a final smile and steps off the stage. He hasn’t even completed his walk back to his seat yet when he begins to feel his phone vibrating madly inside his suit pocket with messages that’ll have to wait for later. His manager gives his shoulder a fond squeeze when he returns, and he takes his first real breath the moment he sits down again to enjoy the rest of the night’s ceremonies.

  
  
  
  
  


“Congratulations Hoon-ah!!!”

Jihoon smiles at the video feed of the other person on the screen of his phone. He brushes his hair back, adjusts the pillow under his head and laughs as he watches a few pieces of cereal falling off from Jaehwan’s mouth while he talks.

“Hyung, eat first. You’re going to choke if you keep talking with your mouth full.” He chuckles at the sight of his friend shaking his head and his bushy, just-got-out-of-bed hair sticking out all over the place.

“You really expect me to calm down after you just bagged an Oscar?” Jaehwan exclaims, words muffled by milk and corn flakes. “I’m treating you to a buffet when you get back tomorrow. We need to celebrate!”

“Don’t you have a music show to promote on tomorrow?”

“I’ll call in sick! My friend just became the youngest recipient _and_ the first Asian actor to receive an Oscar! We. Need. To. Celebrate!”

Jaehwan claps his hands on each enunciated word as Jihoon laughs at his excitement, a hand flying up to cover his mouth in an undying habit. “So you’re going to cancel on your line-up, go out with me and basically broadcast to anyone we come across in public that you faked being sick just to celebrate?”

“Let me handle the technicalities Hoon-ah,” he says waving a dismissive hand. “We should call up the others too! Get _them_ to cancel their schedules as well!”

Jihoon smiles, amused by his friend’s wistfulness. “Woojin and Daehwi have a show in New York, and Sungwoon-hyung is in Japan. Jinyoung and Minhyun-hyung already texted me and said they're only free to meet up over the weekend.”

“Lame.” Jaehwan snorts, pretending as if he doesn’t already know the whereabouts and the happenings of everyone else in their circle. “Just the two of us then. I swear I’m really going to cancel my show tomorrow Hoon, so don’t you dare say no to me.”

He doesn’t doubt that he will, so he nods all the same in affirmation. “Alright, alright. You got yourself a date.”

The grin Jaehwan gives him then is probably tantamount to the bright sunshine over at his end of the call and even if Jihoon is all the way across the world, it doesn’t fail in making him feel just a little warmer inside. When he tells Jaehwan more about his day at the awards show and how he was mostly trying not to be an awkward duck ninety-percent of the time with those big, western stars around him, the laughter that guffaws out of his friend is another comfort in itself.

It's close to midnight on his side of the globe by the time Jaehwan starts to complain about having to go because he has work to attend to and schedules to fulfill, throwing in one last ultimatum that they see each other tomorrow before finally saying goodbye.

The feed ends and his screen goes back to his wallpaper of Max, and Jihoon lets out a silent sigh of longing as he thinks about home. He turns his screen off and lies spread-eagled on his bed for a little while more as a breather to absorb everything that has happened today. 

He looks over to his right where he’s propped up his academy award trophy on the desk of the hotel room, the golden glint of the faceless man triggering thoughts and memories from almost a year ago when he had first landed his role in the movie that got him to win tonight in the first place. It pulls back from the depths of his memories all the hard work he had put up in mastering English for his first Hollywood movie, the sleepless nights of filming on-site and being away from home for three whole months. The amount of effort and dedication he had put into playing his character, the fulfillment and joy he felt in doing so—now entirely personified by this small statue that feels too good to be real. 

He looks at the phone in his hand again, contemplating whether he should do a short live broadcast on instagram to spend time with his fans before he goes to bed. He foregoes the idea a few beats later when he reminds himself that it’s a Monday in South Korea now and twelve hours different from the night-time skies he has here in L.A. Not wanting to be a cause of disturbance to anyone, he picks himself up and heads for the bathroom instead to get ready for bed.

The realization is there the moment he enters his ensuite, switches the lights on and walks over to the sink to get started on removing his makeup. It greets and stares back at him in full view, knocking every other thought away from his mind and screaming to get noticed. He hasn't looked at his face in the mirror ever since he left for tonight's events, and he’d been too busy and too excited to even go to the bathroom that seeing his reflection looking back at him now is opening up a door inside of him that he has worked hard to keep closed much through the entire night.

The door that reminds him of what he looks like when he isn't smiling for anyone—what it _feels_ like now that he’s alone and there are no other eyes to watch his own person. He’s reminded of what it’s like not to have to ‘act’—to not have to drag and stretch the genuine feelings of happiness he felt in sparse moments of the day to times when it’s all but escaped him. Most of all he’s reminded of the weight he feels in his chest, the heaviness that comes to visit from time to time especially in moments like this one; when he’s achieved something for himself that he had never dared dream to obtain.

He swipes the makeup remover over his face methodically, splashes water to rinse before he takes the rest of his clothes off to get in the shower. The steady gush of water droplets on his tired skin serves a good enough distraction, one that he hopes would last until he’s patted himself dry and changed into his pajamas. But alas, his luck finally falls short on him; when the heaviness in his chest grotesquely doubles in weight as soon as he falls and plops himself down on the mattress. 

His eyes land on his trophy again, but now in the dim light provided by the single lamp on his bedside table, the blissful memories they brought out earlier don’t come to him anymore. The golden surface doesn’t catch enough light so the resulting image is a dark silhouette that’s more haunting than inspiring. In its place comes another reminder then, of how this coveted award—while definitely not being won single handedly—is still named for him and _only_ him. A reminder that this accomplishment, much like all the others he had the pleasure of taking home, holds true to the fact that he’s now riding on the waves of success.

Jihoon turns off the light then, shifts in bed so he’s facing the other way and closes his eyes. He plays the usual mantra in his head, the recording of his own voice in his thoughts that he has scripted to tell him the list of good things he has going on in his life. That there is no reason for him to succumb into this aching weight pressing down on him; that he should be happy.

He manages to fall asleep in a matter of minutes this time at least, much to the fact that he’s pretty spent and exhausted as it is. But try as he may, he doesn’t think he can pretend and lie to himself that he didn’t feel a few tears rolling out of his eyes and down his cheeks just before he succumbed to slumber.

  
  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
  
  


Incheon is as busy as ever, and with the news of Jihoon flying back home to Seoul a day after the Oscars, the airport is just shy of crossing the line between mild chaos and complete, utter hell. People in the media, fans, and actual passengers who have flights today crowd every inch of available space in the airport, fighting to either get near him or as far away _from_ him as humanly possible. He hasn’t even stepped out into the arrival halls yet and already he hears the screams and telltale clicks of the cameras.

When he does though, there’s a solid second that feels like the world collectively holds its breath only for everyone to release it simultaneously in a blasting roar of sound that Jihoon feels could possibly have broken the sound barrier. It’s probably much too overwhelming for the average person, but Jihoon is already so used to it that the smile that breaks out of his face comes as natural and dazzling. He doesn’t even need to fake it—the excitement and joy is so palpable in the atmosphere that he genuinely can’t hold back the grin.

What ought to have been a five minute walk from the airport’s arrival hall down to the company van waiting for him at the parking lot turns into a twenty-minute journey with plenty of silent waves of hello’s and candid poses for the cameras. People chase, as they naturally do, and Jihoon feels the tinge of guilt that always comes for him at times likes these when he sees the effort it takes for his manager and the security team to make sure he’s safe. The world finally quiets down a notch at least, when they finally reach their van and the door closes behind them.

“I never thought I’d see a day worse than the time you came back after shooting your movie,” his manager says beside him, wiping the few beads of sweat from his forehead. “That was intense.”

“Sorry, hyung.” Jihoon chuckles sheepishly. He knows that if he hadn’t stopped earlier to sign that little boy’s poster of him, they probably would’ve reached the van sooner. “Coffee’s on me for the next two weeks. Promise.”

His manager snorts, right before he side eyes him and his features break into a fond smile. “Nah. You won an Oscar. I’ll let you off easy this time.”

Jihoon chuckles some more before he relaxes and settles back in his seat as the busy view of the city flashes past by him. He takes a second to scroll through his phone, watches as headline after headline pops up on Naver with photos of his face from just a short while ago getting plastered on every article. He checks his messages, ignores the handful of ‘spam’ work-related entries and checks his personal inbox.

 **_mandu hyung:_ ** _so turns out i actually cant cancel my show today lol_

 **_mandu hyung:_ ** _something about me being the special guest or whatever_

 **_mandu hyung:_ ** _but Im not cancelling on you! We're still going out tonight after my filming! I'll pick you up!_

Jihoon feels the tug of a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth, shaking his head a little as he types in a reply. 

**_Jihoon:_ ** _dont need to pick me up. Just text me where the place is and I'll meet you there._

 **_Jihoon:_ ** _Good luck with filming \m/_

He shuts his screen off the second he hits send, opting to just cut himself off from the world for a while on the drive home. And as what's usually the case whenever he decides to close his eyes and enjoy a small window of peace, the moment ends up feeling much shorter than it actually is when his manager starts nudging him awake when the van finally stops. 

"We're here," is all he says before he hops off and heads to the back to grab his belongings. Jihoon sighs at the cruel play of the universe before he packs up and gets out himself. 

He checks the time on his phone as they travel up the elevators to his apartment floor, noting that it's still a good nine hours until Jaehwan will probably be done with his schedule. Jihoon doesn't really have much to do today, and the prospect of this uncharacteristically huge amount of free time is making him feel just a little excited. He can't wait to just lie in bed and maybe play a few rounds of Battlegrounds until the sun sets on him.

He's in the process of thinking what food to have delivered for lunch when he and his manager finally reach the door to his apartment. And it's in this general state of distractedness that he punches in the code to his electronic lock and enters his abode, only to be met by a loud explosion accompanied by a gust of color that blasts and freezes him on the spot

"SURPRISE!"

Streamers are still raining on top of his head when his brain finally processes that he's not actually being held at gunpoint in his own house in the form of a confetti cannon. He registers the faces of his parents first, his hyung, right before his eyes land on the small banner hanging on one side of the wall of his living room spelling out 'Congratulations Jihoon!' in gold, cursive lettering.

"W-what are you guys doing here?" The shock and sudden excitement renders him a little speechless, his words coming out in sputtered breaths.

"Our little baby just won an Oscar! Where else would we be?" His mom says, immediately walking over to him to wrap him in a tight hug. "Oh, welcome home Jihoonie. We're so, _so_ proud of you!"

"I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow?"

"Yeah, we kinda lied." This time it's his hyung who speaks, walking over to pat him on the back. "It wouldn't be much of a surprise if we told you wouldn't it?"

Jihoon laughs with him when the thought finally settles into understanding, and sees his manager in the corner of his eyes doing the same thing. "You knew?" He asks, feigning betrayal and scoffing when all he gets is a shrug.

The mood in the room glares even brighter when the sound of barking permeates the room. He pulls away from his mom just in time for Max to come rushing to him in a bundle of fur and excited pouncing. 

"Hey boy! Did you miss me? C'mere!" Jihoon stretches with a grin, letting Max up into his arms as he gets slobbered by his small tongue. God, he missed his dog.

"You two must be hungry," his mom says again, looking between him and his manager before tipping her head towards the dining room. "I made all your favorite food today, so shall we start on your celebratory feast?"

The smells are enough to have Jihoon nodding eagerly in seconds and rushing over to the dining area. As much as he loves all the large sized, greasy portions of the food they have in America, there is absolutely no doubt in his mind when he thinks how nothing can ever top the home cooked meals his mom makes.

Jihoon's stomach is pleasantly full with honey-glazed chickens, kimchi, and jjigae by the time everyone starts packing up to go a few hours later. His heart is just as full, he thinks, as he stands by the door and hugs his family one by one.

"I'll come visit on my next day off. Thanks again mom,” he says as he pulls away, smiling at each of them in turn.

“You’re welcome, sweetie. Try not to push yourself too hard, okay?” His mom says, putting a hand on his cheek and jostling a thorn in his chest that sends a small spike of panic up his veins. “You’re getting thinner again. You’re not crazy-dieting again, are you?” She raises an eyebrow, throwing a suspicious look to his manager as well.

“I’m okay mom. And I promise, I’m not _crazy_ dieting.” He passes it off with a light chuckle, thankful when she doesn’t press any further. They give each other one final hug before Jihoon sends them away with a small wave, and only when the elevator dings outside in the hallway does he close his front door.

He exhales out the small amount of panicked breath that’s built up in him just now, his shoulders sagging with the motion. He looks down at Max who’s just standing there next to his legs as if in wait, staring up at him with his dark, beady eyes.

“C’mon boy. You probably missed the couch just as much as I did,” he says to him, walking over to their living room and plopping down on the sofa in a heap. Max follows him and settles down over his lap, and it’s then when the cushions swallow him in its comfortable grasp that all the tiredness of the day finally sinks into him.

He missed his family tonnes—don’t get him wrong—but while he’s had sufficient sleep on the plane ride back to Korea, it still _was_ a long flight regardless. Not to mention the swollen crowd he had to go through back at the airport earlier, getting a surprise lunch feast from his family is honestly the last thing he needs right now.

He’s reached his social quota for the day and he’s tired—of seeing so many people, of smiling until his cheeks hurt, and of socializing altogether that all he wants to do right then is to stay on the couch and cuddle with Max until the sun rises again the next day. He can’t even be bothered to unpack yet, the only thing out of his suitcase being his trophy from the Osars after his parents excitedly persisted that he show it to them.

Jihoon’s just about ready to completely doze off on the cushions and drift to unconsciousness when his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket, startling Max out of his lap in an annoyed jump. He sighs, fishing the device out and sighs even more when he sees Jaehwan’s name on the screen. He almost forgot about their dinner date tonight.

“Hey.”

_“Yo. I just finished filming. I’m on my way to the restaurant now.”_

Jihoon closes his eyes, already feeling the fatigue. Jaehwan sounds way too excited for him to keep up with. “Umm, yeah...hyung, about dinner—”

 _“Oh no-no-no-no-no! You are_ not _cancelling on me tonight Hoon-ah! I already reserved us a table and everything! And do you know what I had to do just to get out of filming early?? I’ll tell you later so don’t even think about bailing!”_

Jihoon holds back the groan threatening to escape his throat and just lolls his head back on the couch in defeat. He sighs, nodding to the ceiling.

“Fine, fine. I’m on my way.”

_“Yes!! See you—!”_

Jihoon hangs up, carelessly throws his phone to the side right after. He lets out another exasperated sigh and slouches even lower on the couch until his face is about level with Max’s—who, rather fittingly, is giving him a look of pity.

“So much for rest, huh?” Jihoon mutters to him, and he lets his dog lick his face and lets a few more minutes pass before he pulls himself back up to get ready. He doesn’t even shower or change and just puts on a large hoodie, a mask, and a hat before saying goodbye to his dog and heading out the door.

The place they’re meeting at is thankfully not that far from his apartment building, and the traffic isn’t too terrible on the drive there either. Small mercies that get him to at least pick up a slightly better mood as compared to when he left his house earlier, but not enough that he doesn’t feel like dragging his body a bit as he heads inside.

"There's my favorite dongsaeng!" Jaehwan starts when he sees him, pausing on his attack on the kimchi radishes he's nibbling when he gets up and wraps Jihoon in a huge hug.

"Nice to see you too hyung," he deadpans, but between them he knows that Jaehwan understands the true level of his aloofness when he does. They take a seat and the waiters start placing a few of their orders down that has Jihoon salivating from the sight alone. Nevermind that he literally just ate just a few hours earlier. He really missed home.

"Sooo." Jaehwan leans forward from across the table, bunching his cheeks up in a bloated smirk as their meat starts to sizzle and cook over the grill. Jihoon simply raises an eyebrow, matching the smile thrown at him.

"What?" 

“How does it feel?”

Jihoon pops a radish in his mouth then, the crunch punctuating his words. “How does _what_ feel?”

His hyung rolls his eyes, leaning back as more dishes are served to their table. “How does it feel to be the _only_ person in the entire country to own an Oscar for best acting?”

Jihoon just tries to play the cool card and grabs his first piece of meat at that, but he still fails at holding back the smile he feels tugging on his face. “Pretty good,” he mutters finally, much to Jaehwan’s amusement.

“My parents and I were watching the show live when they announced your name,” he tells him, words muffling as he chews on his food. “We were all screaming and jumping around the living room like crazy when you started getting up on stage.”

Jihoon snorts, if only to hide how much his chest actually flutters when he hears that. “I haven’t seen your parents in a while. How are they?”

“They’re good.” Jaehwan nods, reaching over to flip a piece of meat on the grill. “You should come and visit soon. My mom misses you, and she said she wants to make you a celebratory meal the next time you come over.”

Jihoon only hums in assent. He does miss the aptly named ‘Jjaeni’ dumplings Jaehwan’s mom makes, and it _has_ been a while since he’s been to the Kim household. He tries to rack his head for his schedule and reminds himself to free up a date for them later.

“So has anyone contacted you yet?” Jaehwan asks, unmistakable pride dripping from his tone. “All the film studios in Seoul must be racing to grab you for a movie now.” 

“I doubt that,” Jihoon shakes his head, smiling modestly. “But I haven’t really checked any of my emails yet. I just got back and I don’t really want to think about work yet,” he says as he pops another wrap of meat in his mouth. “What about you? How was your show earlier?”

The question is enough to launch Jaehwan into a tirade of excitement, enthusiasm, and subtly hidden complaints as he animatedly retells Jihoon what he’s been up to today. And it’s nice, he thinks, to just listen to his friend talk to him about the music variety show he’s filming, about the songs he’s working on and the plans he has for his next album. He’s not too sure if Jaehwan is just that attuned to him—knowing that he doesn’t really want to talk himself so he does all the talking instead—but regardless of whether or not that’s the case, Jihoon is incredibly thankful for it.

He’s just about ready to throw down his chopsticks from the amount of food he’s ingested when his eyes happen to glance at the large LED TV mounted on the wall over on the other end of the restaurant. Jaehwan doesn’t see it since his seat is facing away, and the TV is mostly acting like a glorified digital picture frame for the place since it’s not really playing any audio. The particular video it’s playing is even nearing the end, but it’s exactly because it is that serves as enough reason for Jihoon to freeze and feel like he's choking.

It’s the music video for Energetic, and of all the parts in the video that he just happens to catch in passing, it just has to be the one where his eighteen year-old self cheekily sneaks up from behind the center of their eleven-group dynamic to throw in a not-so-surprise back hug. His blood turns cold and his ears ring incessantly, the entire room blurring out of focus. 

“Do you want some more meat, Hoon-ah?” Jaehwan asks him, but the question barely registers or even enters his wall of comprehension when all he can feel right now is his dinner attempting to come back up his mouth. Jaehwan turns in his seat to look over to where he’s staring blankly at, but by then the TV is already playing something else. 

“Hey.” Jaehwan tries again, snapping his fingers close to his face in an attempt to wake him up. “Jihoon—”

“S-sorry.” He abruptly gets up, one of his chopsticks dropping to the floor in a metal clang. “I—I forgot something at home. I gotta go...sorry.”

“What? Hey, wait—” Jaehwan grabs his wrist, and Jihoon almost throws himself on a jump from the contact. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

Jihoon gulps down hard when he feels a small upchuck making its way through his throat and just nods and smiles at his friend. He only dares to speak when he’s sure that his voice is the only thing that’ll come out of his mouth. “I’ll text you...I’m sorry.” 

He steps back and gets out of Jaehwan’s grasp, but his sudden episode has caused some of the other patrons to glance his way in attention. The last thing he needs right now is a crowd so he keeps his head down and hurriedly pulls up his mask as he rushes out of the establishment in as fast as his legs will carry him. 

His heart is hammering by the time he makes it back to his car where he immediately locks the doors, and as much as he wants to just drive away and head home in a similar fashion of haste, he knows it’s not the best idea to be out on the road right now given his current mental state. He can barely keep his hands from shaking, and his breathing is so ragged that it’s thickening the air inside the car’s interior like early winter fog. He tries to calm down by holding onto the steering wheel, but all he gets out of the attempt is a numbness in his bones when his fingers latch on to the handles like a vice. 

It’s debilitating. Like as if something dark and heavy had taken residence in his chest and is growing at an alarming speed, crushing his heart and crowding his lungs to the walls of his chest until the weight of the entity is _all_ that he feels entirely. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes, which by far is the only source of relief he gets from the enormous mass that’s crippling him.

Perhaps the worst thing about it all is how painfully aware he is of what’s happening. This isn’t even new, the feeling more familiar than foreign that it borders on his recognition right off the bat. He’s no stranger to these panic attacks, not even close, but this is the very first time it’s come to dig its claws in him while he’s out in public, and with a friend no less.

The thought brings a different kind of strain with it that doesn’t at all help with him trying to handle the situation. The singular thought of how this was even able to happen now could only mean that it can happen _again._ And try as he may to contain such thoughts from overtaking him, it falls short on willpower that it does nothing but elevate the stress.

Jihoon doesn't calm down, or at least not completely in the way he hopes he would. He does, however, reach a point where he's in control of most of his motor skills again that's sufficient enough to get him driving. He heads straight home without further debacle, pulls over in record speed at his building’s parking lot before rushing to the lifts and the hallways and finally reaching the safety of his flat. 

Max is on the couch when he arrives, immediately sitting up and bounding towards him before the front door can even fully close. Jihoon rips the mask off his face and drops his hat somewhere he can't be bothered to care about, making a beeline for his bedroom with his dog in tow.

The overwhelmingness subsides a little now that he’s alone and staying put in the comforts of his room, but the distress from earlier is only gratingly replaced by a strong feeling of patheticness rubbing at the edges of the splitting wound. He’s going to have to explain and provide a passable excuse to Jaehwan for how he behaved tonight, and he’ll probably need to tell his manager what happened in case they need to debunk some public witness accounts from earlier at the restaurant. It’s a complete mess, and Jihoon hates himself for having caused it.

Despite Max’s warmth on his palms and his tongue licking his face free of his tears, the paralyzing weight still doesn’t go away to an extent where he can breathe freely. Jihoon sighs, regretfully getting up to walk over to the drawer in the far dresser of his room that he hates having to open. He pops a few pills in his mouth, swallows them dry, before taking his shirt off and falling back into bed.

The last thing he hears before passing out cold is the sound of Max whimpering beside him.

  
  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
  
  


Jihoon gives his arm a good stretch after he puts the dumbells back in their rack, chancing at glance at the full-length mirror over on one side of the gym to admire the contour that bulges out of his tricep just as Woojin goes over to give it a playful slap.

 _"Oppaaa,"_ his friend says in his shrill, cockroach-voice, garnering an eye roll on his part. 

"Not all of us can afford to get away with eating beef and ramen everyday in Japan, Woojin." He points out with a chuckle after he tries flexing his bicep, nodding to himself in approval. 

“Excuse you _.”_ Woojin smacks him again, a pout forming over his words. “I did _not_ have beef and ramen everyday, thank you very much. Five times a week, sure, but not _everyday.”_

Jihoon just smiles at him, shaking his head as he finishes stretching his arms. It's Woojin's first week back in Seoul from his overseas tour and the first Jihoon's seen of him in two months. They’re currently at the private gym of his condo, with Jihoon doing most of the gym work between the two of them.

"Hey, did I ever tell you that time me and Daehwi had all-you-can-eat yakiniku right before we had a taping at Uniba?" Woojin chuckles fondly as they make their way to the pull-up bars. Jihoon launches himself up on the pole, staying in place.

“Well that definitely doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” he tells Woojin when he comes up to hang beside him, a curious smirk gracing his own lips. “What happened?”

“Remember when we all went to Lotte World last year for our anniversary? And Jisung-hyung almost puked at the sky-rocket ride?”

That brings a smile to his face as he nods to his friend, remembering how all nine of them had been holding back from laughing so hard when they were on the ride so as not to cause a scene in public when Jisung’s skin literally started turning white and purple from the constrained effort of keeping his lunch in place. Jihoon has a selfie of them from that day on his phone, right on his favorites folder.

“Worse?” He asks Woojin as he does one pull up, and he gets a hefty laugh and a shake of the head when he reaches back up his friend's face level.

“So much worse.” 

Woojin ends up not doing much of the exercise altogether as he retells Jihoon the tragedy of how he and Daehwi went through the entire day of filming at the theme park while simultaneously trying to hold on to an entire meat buffet in their stomachs while getting on a handful of extreme rides _and_ still looking pretty for the cameras. Woojin has given up on hanging by the pole midway through his tale and just sits there on the mat below him, laughing all the while at the memory.

“Man, you should’ve seen Daehwi’s face when we finally got back to the hotel,” Woojin says, wiping the corners of his eyes from the tears of his laughter. “I’ve never seen someone so small chuck out so much food in my life. It was hilarious.”

“Sounds like you guys really had fun on the tour, huh?” Jihoon comments when he gets down, shaking his hands to wear away the tension in his fingers. 

"Yeah. I think this one may actually be my favorite. I'm kinda sad we only have two stops left for this leg," Woojin says with a long look on his face before nodding to him. "You're going on tour soon too, right?"

Jihoon only hums, brushing past his friend and walking over in front of the mirror to do some squats. "I'm starting in two months. Rehearsals a month before the first show so until then, I'm just on break."

He hears Woojin chuckle from behind, and he raises a curious eyebrow at him on his reflection in the mirror. 

"Park Jihoon. Two-time daesang artist of the year idol, and now academy award-winning actor," Woojin says with poorly masked pride. "You're really doing it all, huh?"

Jihoon just scoffs at his friend then, continuing his reps to hide the small blush he feels forming at the base of his neck. "I'm just doing what I've always been doing, Woojin. And it's still all I'll ever do—with or without all these fancy awards."

"I know." His friend nods. "And you've always been good at it. I'd tell you to take it easy but—well, seems like you pretty much got that part covered."

It's an innocent enough statement, a harmless phrase in passing that doesn't even call for any sort of response past a smile of acknowledgment. But for some weird and cynical reason, it rubs on Jihoon the wrong way that he even stops mid squat to narrow his eyes at his friend in the mirror.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The reaction he gets from Woojin for the sudden drop in his tone is enough to tell him that whatever he thought his friend had meant with what he said isn't the case at all. But he’s already taken the dive, and now he can’t pull himself back up.

“Umm, nothing?” Woojin blinks, confusion punctuating his words. “I just meant that you shouldn’t tire yourself out. You have quite a lot on your plate.”

“I’m literally on a month-long break.”

“Which is why I wasn’t really implying anything.” Woojin counters, not missing a beat. There’s a slight frown on his face now, a barely visible crease between his eyebrows. “What did you think I meant?”

The question jarrs something in him, and he suddenly remembers that night a week ago when he went out with Jaehwan at that barbecue place. He’s already apologized to him for what happened and did some damage control over text, and he’s placated and moved past it himself when it doesn’t seem like his hyung showed any signs of holding it against him.

He’s already pushed it to the back of his mind, so why are the feelings suddenly seeping out of the crevices now? Does Woojin know about what happened? Did Jaehwan tell him? If they’re talking behind his back, then are they assuming something? Oh no—maybe Jaehwan _did_ see what was on that blasted TV that night. Maybe he saw what got him worked up and put two and two together. Maybe—

“Hoon-ah?”

He jumps back when he’s snapped out of his reverie and his vision lands to Woojin standing in front of him, a good few feet from where he was sitting earlier and sporting a worried look on his face.

“Hey, you okay?”

The question strikes another chord in him too, and in pretty much the same way as earlier. And the worst part of it now is that he can’t even come up with anything to say. His throat is tight and his mind is echoing the words back in his head, trying to find an answer himself. _Is_ he okay? 

“Why wouldn’t I be,” is what ultimately comes out of his mouth in response a few seconds too late. He immediately bites the inside of his cheek because there’s no way in hell what he just said can sound any less defensive than it did.

“O...kay?” Woojin says, but Jihoon doesn’t see the face he makes when he does since he’s already walking away from his friend and heading to the treadmills. He turns the machine on methodically, starting his run at a much faster speed than necessary.

“So, anyway,” Woojin starts again, coming over to lean an arm over one of the treadmill’s handles. Jihoon just keeps running, using the exercise as an excuse not to look his friend in the eye. “Daehwi says he wants to meet up with you tonight too. I think he already sent a group text to the others.”

Jihoon just hums a response to that, keeping his focus on the floor-to-ceiling glass window that opens up to the skyline of his condominium complex—the balls of his feet pounding the treadmill in a serious sprint.

“I heard Sungwoon-hyung’s back from his overseas schedules too.” Woojin continues, striding over his silence. “If he comes tonight that’ll be all of us then. I just realized that it’s been a while since we all came together that isn’t for our anniversary day and—Jihoon!!”

He should be thankful his best friend has lightning-fast reflexes because if Woojin had moved any later than he did, Jihoon would probably be nursing a broken nose from falling face first on a speeding treadmill. Woojin all but smashes the stop button on the machine, all the while holding on to his torso and supporting his dead and unbalanced weight.

“Fuck—are you okay?” Comes Woojin’s hysterics over on his right ear. Jihoon just nods, brushing his friend’s hold off of him when the ground finally stops moving beneath him.

“I just tripped.”

“Tripped?” Woojin repeats, aghast and irritated. “You were _this_ close to bashing your face at thirty miles per hour and you call that tripping? You could’ve seriously hurt yourself! Why were you even running so fast for?”

Jihoon bites his lower lip at that, the force of which is so strong that he can almost taste blood. “Sorry,” he mutters to the ground, in a voice that’s barely loud enough for another person to hear.

“Just...just be careful next time, okay?” Woojin goes to pat his shoulder in an attempt at casualness. Jihoon jumps and springs away from the contact.

“Hoon—” His voice drops to a worried tone now, sending a spike of panic to Jihoon’s chest. “I’m not forcing you to tell me anything...but if there’s something wrong—”

“I’m okay, Woojin.” He says to his friend’s feet, his eyes blinking hard and heavy a few times. It takes a couple of seconds but to his relief, the only thing he receives afterwards is a sigh and a soft chuckle.

“Okay. Good. At least I won’t have to explain to the guys if you suddenly show up with a broken nose, huh?” Woojin says in an attempt to lighten the mood. Jihoon appreciates it, he really does, and in fact it’s this quality of mature respect and patience is what he most appreciates about his best friend.

But the familiar weight in his chest is starting to grow and take hold of him again, its cold tendrils grasping at his veins and arteries like they’re nothing but mere threads. He tried running it off, hoping to drive it away with the exertion of effort only to fail at it miserably. And as much as he hates what he’s about to do next, he just can’t seem to find the willpower to stop himself.

“Umm, about tonight. I don’t think I can go with you guys.”

The worried lines come back to Woojin’s face in an instant, dropping his feign of casualness entirely. “What? Why?”

“I just remembered that I...have a thing with my parents tonight. I’m, uhh—going over to their place for dinner.” He’s more than completely sure that Woojin can tell he’s lying; the frown he has on and the little disappointed shimmer in his eyes are all visible cues to it. Jihoon’s almost just as ready to be called out for it, to formulate an excuse to follow through with his lie. But it doesn’t come, and he’s not sure whether the fact that it doesn’t can be considered a good thing.

“Alright then. I’ll tell the others,” says Woojin, his voice flat and monotonous. The passive tone is enough to pull Jihoon a little into uttering an apology, at least.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I understand.” Woojin nods, although his words are still clipped. “But I’m not really the one you should be apologizing to.”

Woojin then lets off his own fib by saying that he’s tired from the gym session and he kind of wants to crash at home, even though he’s pretty much done none of the exercises the half of which Jihoon did alone. He lets him go though, nods at his best friend and sees him off because he honestly doesn’t want to handle whatever it is that he’s started brewing. 

The weight in his chest has reached the familiar, half-point mark in its enlarging mass by the time he makes it back to his floor and into his apartment. Jihoon doesn’t head to his room this time and just pathetically sits there on the carpet in the middle of his living room. Max finds him after a minute, and his presence is the only thing that keeps him from dropping even lower.

Jihoon whispers a silent apology to his friends then, just as Max reaches up to lick the tears that start falling down his cheek.

  
  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
  
  


Jihoon’s first instinct when he sees the foreign pair of shoes haphazardly strewn on his foyer is to step back out the door and call building security. He's just coming back from taking Max out for a walk and it takes him a second to realize that his dog doesn’t seem at all bothered by the presence of a supposed intruder inside their house. Not to mention that the shoes in question are a pair of Jimmy Choos that are painfully scuffed at the heels, a telling that there is probably no danger as to whoever has decided to pay him a surprise visit.

And true enough, the danger is not at all imminent when he walks over to his living room and sees Jaehwan sitting on his couch and scrolling boredly on his phone. His hyung smiles when he sees him, pouting his lips and doting on Max when he runs over to him and jumps on his lap.

“Hyung? What are you doing here?” Jihoon asks, sounding just a little guarded.

“I’m free today so I thought I’d drop by and come visit you,” Jaehwan answers distractedly as he continues cooing and making faces at Max.

“You could’ve texted me.”

“But where’s the surprise in that, right Max? Who’s the good boy? Who’s the good boy?” Jaehwan squeals in laughter when his dog starts attacking his face with affectionate licks and paw-punches. “I brought you some chicken wings. I put the box over on the counter.”

That brings Jihoon’s walls down almost instantly, and he finally lets himself feel the smile tugging on his lips at the image of his hyung and his dog playing on the couch when he surmises the harmlessness of the situation. It’s perfect timing; he was just thinking of ordering and buying chicken for himself earlier while he was outside.

“Let me just change my shirt before we eat, I’m a little sweaty from outside,” he says, winding Max’s leash and putting it down on the entry table before he starts making his way to his bedroom. Jihoon chuckles and gives a fond shake of the head when he gives the two one last glance and seeing Jaehwan sprawled on the couch now while being attacked by his dog. 

He’s just reached the door at the end of the hall, mind preoccupied with thoughts of the chicken he’s about to have in a few minutes when he opens and enters his bedroom. It doesn’t even take more than one step, a fraction of a second, for his lightened mood to instantly plummet and drop below the freezing point from what greets him.

Jihoon has lived in this apartment for close to two years now. He’s lived alone with Max pretty much the entire time, and while he’s not really what you would call a complete germaphobe like Minhyun probably is, he’s lived inside these four walls long enough to know when something isn’t right about the place. 

For starters, there’s a smell lingering in the air inside his room that he’s never once sniffed before . The door to his ensuite is also closed, which is already a tell-tale sign of intrusion because Jihoon _never_ closes his bathroom door, even when he's using it. He takes the few remaining steps there is to make to get to the center of his room, standing at a vantage point where he can survey what else is different from this morning before he and Max stepped out.

He does a complete eye-sweep—twice—and almost drops a nod of approval at finding nothing of incriminating value. Almost, because at the very last second his gaze lands on the dresser table across his bed and sees the topmost drawer fully shut. The blood in his veins freeze, and he feels the cold dews of his sweat leave icy trails over his nape. That top drawer has never once closed all the way before because one of the springs on the hinge always kept bouncing back, leaving the entire thing to forever open up in the slightest that Jihoon has never bothered to fix.

He treads carefully, his heart beating at an excessively fast rate and pounding loudly in his ears as he walks over to the dresser. He holds his breath again when his fingers find access to the small nub of the drawer handle, pulling the shelf open to peek inside. He doesn’t even need to slide it all the way out before he bites his lips with a shaking chatter and softly pushes the thing back closed.

He comes out of his room a few minutes later with a fresh shirt on and the same kind of smile he uses in front of the cameras; blindingly perfect and passive. Jaehwan and Max are still playing on the couch when he sees them, albeit looking slightly more calmer and relaxed than when he left minutes prior..

“You want a beer, hyung?” Jihoon calls out when he makes it to the kitchen. He sees the two boxes of fried chicken on the counter and even smells the aroma coming out from it too, but both his appetite and excitement has all but passed him at this point.

“Sure.” Jaehwan gets up, casually waltzing over in complete normalcy. He sits on the bar stool opposite of him where he starts to open the take-out boxes as soon as Jihoon places the two cans down from the fridge. “I got your favorites. Garlic fusion and Spicy Honey.”

“Nice.” The hiss of opening cans sound off between them and Jihoon raises his beer can for a small toast. He pulls out his first chicken wing, swiping it clean with his mouth and throwing the empty bone in a bowl.

“So how’s your break going?” Jaehwan asks in the most casual of tones as he takes a sip of his own beer and gets a piece of the garlic wings. Jihoon only shrugs.

“It’s okay. Normal. Boring,” he says, tilting his head to the side as he chews. “Oh, but I’m going to have a photoshoot next week. My manager’s telling me that I don't actually have to do it, but you and I both know that our breaks mostly consist of being a potato twenty-four-seven with only the occasional social outing in between. I kinda at least want something to do.”

Jaehwan chuckles at that, his cheeks bunching up in a healthy, dumpling-like swell. “Speaking of social outings, we missed you at dinner the other day.”

Jihoon tries not to let the statement faze him as he reaches for his third chicken. It’s easy. Acting is so second-nature to him now that trivial things like pretending he didn't hear something comes off so natural and without any hint of awkwardness or reproach. To his dismay though, Jaehwan doesn’t relent even from his silence. 

“Did you hear from Daehwi? He was pretty bummed and jealous that only me and Woojin got to see you ever since you came back from America,” he says, his words punctuated by another sip of beer. “I saw your trophy by the way.”

Jihoon can tell it’s an invitation for him to react, to respond with something other than his slated silence of feigned focus. He doesn’t give him the satisfaction though, and just hums in acknowledgment and continues eating.

“Why is it just sitting in the living room?” Jaehwan continues, and Jihoon can swear his voice has never sounded more annoying than it does now. “Is your trophy shelf too full or something?”

“Nah, I got space.” He shakes his head. Finally answering and looking his friend in the eye. “I mean, you’d know that, right?”

He catches Jaehwan mid-chew, who only raises his eyebrows at him in confusion. Jihoon takes a swig of his beer then, thumps the can back down on the counter a little louder than necessary.

“What were you doing in my room.”

That kills the light air of their supposed small talk, chilling the atmosphere by a few degrees and bringing down with it a thick haze of tension. It’s not even a question; the statement purposely clipped to leave Jaehwan with no means of denial. And Jihoon doesn’t really know what kind of answer he's expecting, but the silence he gets only serves to strike a dark chord in him.

“I gave you the code to my apartment because you’re my hyung and I trusted you—” he goes on, emphasizing the past tense with only barely contained grit. “—not so you can snoop around my place without my permission.”

He still doesn’t get an answer, and he swears it takes everything in him not to lunge right then when all Jaehwan does is chug his beer down and blink at him. A silent minute passes that’s barely held by the intensity of Jihoon’s scowl when finally, Jaehwan speaks.

“How long have you been taking those pills again,” he says, in the same tone Jihoon had used earlier that’s neither a question nor an inquiry. Challenging.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Really? You go and say that I’m your hyung and you trust me but you won’t tell me _this?”_ Jaehwan counters, the frustration in his voice is more than palpable.

“You should’ve thought about that before you broke into my room then.”

“Would you have told me if I didn’t?” He gets a raised eyebrow, just short of a full accusation. “I counted three empty packets of pills Jihoon. How many were you planning to take before you even thought to tell me?”

A quick answer escapes him, which only leaves him fuming and biting into his lips more. He vaguely registers the sound of Max whimpering to the side of them when all he does is try to contain the rage he feels spilling over his guts.

“I’m not looking for a fight, Jihoon-ah,” Jaehwan continues over his silence, his tone shifting to a more concerned scale. “I’m just worried about you. When Woojin told me that you’ve been acting weird when you two were together the other day, I knew something was up. Please, just talk to me.”

It strikes something different in him this time, something that shakes away a bit of the anger in his system in place of understanding. It doesn’t come alone though, because with it comes the familiar dark weight that he’s gotten so used to feeling a lot of lately. The sudden emergence renders him speechless that all he can think to do right then is shake his head.

But Jaehwan takes it the wrong way, and his next few words form along the same tension that’s thickened the air around them when he says, “Are you really going to be this selfish?”

And that does it. The words push Jihoon all the way to the edge he's trying to avoid, forcing the jumble of emotions he’s currently fighting to contain to finally spread all over him in a dark haze. He’s heard those words before; he’s heard them directed at him in the same heat as Jaehwan is doing right now that it brings about a flood of repressed memories that he had never, _ever_ dared visit. And suddenly he’s in the apartment of the person he so desperately tries not to think about after a gruelling call-in to the office of their managing company, choking on his words and holding back tears that continue to run and haunt him to this day. 

“Leave.”

It catches Jaehwan off guard, but it's already with barely managed control that Jihoon says that without lashing out. He feels his nails digging into his palms while his chest throbs a malignant echo. Even the chicken that he’d been excited to eat just minutes earlier is threatening to come up and force itself out of his body in a mess that closely resembles his own persona.

“Jihoon. Please—”

“LEAVE!”

He doesn’t look at Jaehwan anymore and just streamlines his focus on the can of beer in front of him. He doesn’t see the face he’s making when he starts to back away, doesn’t see the guilt in them when he mutters a small apology and goes out the front door.

Jihoon only ever untethers himself from the ropes of his own making when the electronic beeping of the lock resounds in the hallway. He hears Max whimpering beside him, but even that doesn't help much against the overwhelming emotions coursing through him. He slams both palms to the counter then, hanging his head low as the sobs rack his body in waves of undiluted regret.

  
  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
  
  


_"Beautiful!_ Now to the side Jihoon-ssi. Yes! Perfect!" 

The flash of studio lights and the echoing clicks of the camera's shutter fill the large set with its intangible space, hyping the process Jihoon finds himself in as he makes pose after pose for the photographer. He angles his body this way and that, tilts his head in alternating sides and smiles with practiced slyness and languid smirks in between. 

This is easy; posing for the camera and painting an image of himself that looks good and _'perfect'_ for viewers to see. It's easy to pretend for the sake of aesthetics, to flash a winning smile that makes it look like problems don't exist in the world. This is work. This is professionalism, and this is the exact reason why he'd been so adamant with his manager that he go for this shoot even if he's technically still on break. 

"Fabulous! Okay now how about a jeojang?"

Jihoon chuckles and scrunches his face in a light cringe, doing _the_ most regrettable pose in the history of his career. But it's work, and like any ethical member of the workforce, he sucks it up even if he doesn't want to. Because even if some parts of the job aren't as easy to swallow as others, it still doesn't take away the aspect he most likes about the whole ordeal.

"Okay now give me something sexy. Yes! Perfect Jihoon-ssi!"

The numbness. It's this mind-wiping sensation that happens as he makes another pose for the camera that ultimately becomes his favorite take away from getting up early in the morning to be here. Work is work, and standing in front of a few people while he makes a couple of magazine-worthy expressions for the camera is the best kind of distraction there is from the current mess swirling around his personal life. Here in the brightly-lit and intricately decorated studio, all he needs to think about is the concept he’s doing for the shoot and the kind of image he wants to show the public and his fans. He doesn't need to look at his phone and ignore the few messages that pop up in his notifications; doesn’t need to feel guilty about things he’s purposely trying to avoid; doesn’t need to _think_ about anything outside the scope of blinding camera flashes and aesthetics.

The only downside to the situation is—with him being so focused and determined to do a great job—the shoot only ends up lasting a good two hours at maximum. One moment he’s sprawled over the sofa set-up clad in Gucci and the next thing he knows, the art director calling it a wrap. He almost pouts at the announcement, and the only thing that keeps him from actually doing so is the timely appearance of his manager as he walks over to him.

“Ready to go?”

And maybe he does end up pouting a little, when he looks up to his hyung and says, “Is there anything else they want us to do?”

Jihoon can see that he means to deny that and say no, just as well as he can see that it’s not actually the case. He gives him a pensive look until his manager sighs in defeat.

“They asked if it’d be okay to do some online content for Youtube, but I already turned them down.”

“Hyung!”

“It’s your break, Jihoon-ah.” His manager frowns in disapproval. “You’re supposed to be resting and taking your time off.”

“How long does it even take to make a Youtube video?” Jihoon rolls his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Tell them it’s fine and I’m up for it. I mean, we’re already here anyway. Might as well not waste the trip.”

“Jihoon—”

“Please, hyung.” Now he pouts, using that face he knows that’s _very_ hard for his manager to say no to. And sure enough, he ends up getting what he wants when his manager sighs again and shakes his head, walking over to where the producers are huddled together on the other side of the studio.

It’s not even ten minutes later when Jihoon finds himself in front of the camera again. This time though it’s set in a tripod, and he’s sitting on a plain set where only a desk and an open laptop is placed in front of him. He waits for the person in charge to finish reading from her notes before going in to brief him. 

“Thank you so much for agreeing to this, Jihoon-ssi!” She says cheerfully, bowing her head slightly. “We know how busy you are so we won't make this very long. Basically we just want to put up some fun content online to coincide with your shoot, so we thought of maybe just shooting a ‘react’ video.”

“Oh.” Jihoon nods, smiling warmly at the crew in front of him. “Sounds fun. Okay let’s get on it.”

That seems to please the lady in charge, who claps her hands together in glee at his agreement. “That’s great! Okay so we already have the videos for you to react to on the laptop in front of you. It’s all mostly clips of your acting scenes and stuff from your idol promotions, so feel free to pause and say a few words to them!”

Jihoon nods and waits for them to finish setting up the camera and the playback on the screen he’ll be watching. Someone does a quick powdering of his nose and a quick fix to a few strands of his hair before the director finally calls the queue to start rolling. 

It’s all pretty basic, nothing he hasn’t done before so the flow is pretty natural from the moment he introduces himself to the invisible viewers in the camera. And just as promised, the videos that play on the computer in front of him start showing clips of his career. There’s a pretty intense scene from the movie that got him to win the Oscar, one from a recent drama he starred in last spring, and then more funny and nostalgic ones that range from his time as Youngsoo on Flower Crew to really old ones when he was barely even ten years old.

“Aish, to be honest I don’t really remember doing any of this at the time,” he comments lightheartedly as he watches his seven-year-old self cry in a scene after being scolded for stealing money from his parents’ wallet. “It’s cute though. Young Jihoon is cute. But the teeth though—oh man, the teeth. Thank God for braces.”

It’s all pretty fun and easy going especially when he makes the crew and even his manager laugh from behind the camera. It’s actually really nice too, to watch all these old clips that remind him of the path he’s carved down along the way that has led him to this moment. It gets even more fun when clips of him being an idol start rolling on the playback. 

He comments on the popular and sexy costumes he wore on his last concert tour that had everyone talking for a while, tells a behind-the-scenes story from the last album he released a few months ago, and shares about the experience of going on his first world tour last summer. He makes everyone laugh again when he reveals just how much breath he had to hold for that one time he took his shirt off on stage to keep his abs tight, and pulls at everyone’s emotions when he reacts to his very first music show win.

It’s all going great, and Jihoon can see that there’s only a few minutes left on the video stream before he’s done with the clips. His brain is already taking ten steps ahead of itself, thinking and formulating sentences to say as an ending comment and an outro for the things he just watched. What he doesn’t expect though is for one of the videos near the end to be a clip from almost seven years ago—footage from during the time he was in Wanna One.

Now, thinking back to those days is generally pretty harmless. He loved his time being in a group and he treasures every second he’d spent with his members-turned-lifelong-friends. Jihoon will never forget his roots and he will always be one to look back at the memories they made in fondness, so he doesn’t really think much of it when the all too familiar salvation sanctuary of their group plays before him.

Zero Base is pretty fun to watch and in all honesty, will probably remain as one of his favorite moments from their time together. But as much as that’s the case, his perspective turns a complete three-sixty when the video proceeds to show a part of the series he doesn’t want to be watching. The clip hasn’t even gotten past five seconds yet when he starts to lose feeling in both his legs, the numbness creeping all the way to the soles of his feet. His hands are next to react when they suddenly form into shaking fists from underneath the table as he watches a nineteen-year-old Jihoon don an inflatable sumo suit in front of the cameras. It’s been so long— _incredibly_ long—and yet he can still remember the moment unfolding before him now like as if it had only been yesterday.

He remembers fooling around on the day their company left them those ridiculous costumes to play around with to entertain themselves and their viewers. He remembers losing his breath in laughing so much, the food they ate and the games he played with everyone. But as innocent as that all seems, this particular clip also brings about an onslaught of memories that aren’t at all restricted to innocent fun and games.

Jihoon remembers the breathy laughter accompanied by playful slaps to his shoulders; the buck-toothed smile and lines for eyes that always crinkled in delight. He remembers the risky and lingering touches even when there were cameras around, the stolen glances at each other’s way when no one else was looking, and the private text messages of _goodnight’s_ and _I love you’s_ at the end of each day. Jihoon remembers it all in a sudden flood of past waters, the force of which is so strong that it literally knocks out every last breath he has in him.

All good memories made in fondness, but there's a reason why Jihoon doesn't visit such thoughts anymore even if they aren't inherently bad. Because along with those memories come something more sinister, more malignant; the darkness he’d been so adamant at pushing away all day and the sole reason why he even agreed to work and do everything the directing team wanted him to do today. He can feel the familiar tendrils clawing at his heart, enveloping it with its weight and sinking the entirety of his insides down to the pit of his stomach. His mind goes numb and his mouth falls slack, and it stays like that even as the clips pass and the video ends in front of him.

“Jihoon-ssi?”

He hears the female director call out to him, but he can't for the life of him pull out any sort of response to make. He just keeps staring blankly at the screen, watching his reflection stare right back from the depths of the dark glass of the blank monitor. He sees his face contorted in obvious discomfort, and no matter how hard he tries to fix the haunting expression, it doesn't budge.

"Jihoo—"

"S-sorry, I—" He finally finds his voice, although it comes out cracking and broken as he attempts to get up from his seat. He ends up knocking his knee on the table— _hard_ —and almost completely topples over the entire set up if not for the quick hands of the crew. "S-sorry! I just—I need a minute. I'm sorry."

He rushes out then. Towards where, he's not sure. All he knows is that he needs to be as far away from other people as soon as possible. His breathing hitches and hiccups in shallow gusts of air, and he ends up locking himself inside the small bathroom of his dressing room just in time for the first of his tears to fall and escape his eyes.

"No—no-no-no-no-no," he says in frantic panic, watching the droplets slide down his cheeks from his reflection in the mirror. He opens the faucet and splashes his face in an attempt to stop himself from crying, but all it does is turn his eyes redder and mess up his hair in a matted clump against his forehead.

His breathing gets even worse as the pipes in his lungs painfully constrict on itself in a hard throb that tightly blocks his airways. He leans against the sink as his heart starts to beat faster at the lack of oxygen, just as his vision swims with even more tears. Jihoon tries to control it, tries to pull back all the emotions bubbling over and rope them into place but it's too much and too overwhelming all at once—he's drowning.

His stark awareness of the irony of the situation isn’t any better, because no matter how much pain and discomfort he's in right now, all he can think about as the weight in his chest grows to an immeasurable scale is how this is the first time he’s having a panic attack while working. For all that he’s believed that being busy in a professional environment preoccupies his brain into near emotional numbness, he’s proven wrong yet again that the false sense of security he blankets himself with is just as pathetic and fragile as he is.

He tries to repeat the mantra in his head, the one where he lists down all the reasons why he shouldn’t be feeling this way—why he should be happy. It usually works in pulling him up from the depths a few couple of inches, but all it does now is bring back even more memories that only make his heart weigh even more.

“Jihoon? Is everything okay in there?” 

He hears a soft knock and his manager speaking to him on the other side of the door, and Jihoon would laugh at the ridiculous situation he’s in if it weren’t for the fact that doing so would only make him sound even more hysterical. He tries to clear his throat and pulls out a steady voice, hoping against the odds it doesn’t choke him.

“I’m fine. Just...just give me a second.” His voice still cracks at the last word and he tries to take a couple of calming breaths again. He can’t afford to be like this now.

“Can you open the door?”

It’s not working, and the pressure just keeps building as he holds back another sob. “Hyung—”

“It’s just me out here Hoon-ah, it’s okay. Please open the door.”

The softness in his manager’s tone pushes another rush of tears out of him that threatens to keep going out of his control. He doesn’t have much fight in him left and the best thing he can think to do for himself is to merely wipe away as much as he can before finally turning the lock. 

His manager just waits for him outside, face devoid of expression and completely unfazed by the haggard state of his appearance. It’s better out here than in the bathroom where he can at least breathe a little in comfort, but it does little to take the edge off the knife slicing through him. He looks down on the ground just as he feels a hand going to his shoulder to give him a warm squeeze.

“We’ll take the back exit after I clear the halls. Let’s get you home,” is all his manager says before he takes a step back and starts gathering their belongings. He goes out of the room in what Jihoon assumes is to clear a path for them, so he busies himself with making sure he doesn’t at least look like a broken mess for the meantime. His eyes are still red and just slightly puffy, but he’s managed to tame his hair back and wipe away some of the smeared makeup off his face.

It’s not long before he’s finally seated inside their van and exiting the building, the first form relief he gets that actually works a little. The quiet inside the vehicle is both suffocating and soothing at the same time, the air holding a kind of balance that keeps the weight in his chest from growing or shrinking in its current state. A constant sort of limbo that's neither good nor bad, however temporary. When the van finally starts slowing down and pulling up at the parking lot of his apartment building, the stagnant bubble pops with the needle of his manager's concerned voice.

"Do you want me to go up with you?" He asks, soft and coated with poorly masked worry. Jihoon shakes his head then, not because he's rejecting the offer, but because he doesn't really know _what_ he wants.

“Are you sure?” His manager asks again, and the temptation is stronger this time but Jihoon just nods in rejection.

"Alright then. Just call me if you need anything, okay?" His manager continues with some reluctance, reaching out with his hand to place on top of his knee. "Get some rest, Hoon-ah."

And it's in the way he says his name with genuine concern that gets him to wake up and move, because another wave of tears suddenly shoot straight up to his eye sockets in an overwhelming wave that he’s not capable of controlling. Despite everything that's happened earlier, he doesn't want his manager—or _anybody_ for that matter—to see him crying.

Jihoon drops one final nod and steps out of the van without another word, feeling immensely guilty that he can't even mutter a small thanks lest he wants to break out into a sob. He makes it up into his apartment in record time, punches in his lock code twice after messing up on the first when his hands shake too much, and slams the door behind him on the way in.

He doesn’t know whether it’s the fact that he’s finally alone and in the privacy of his home now or if it’s Max’s immediate presence when he rushes up beside him, but it all results in every single thread holding him together to break apart and unravel. The tears come pouring in a silent stream for a second time today, closely followed by the hiccups of broken breath that shake his body right down to the core.

It’s all coming out in full force now, thoughts of _him_ that Jihoon is too weak to keep a lid on. It opens something sour at the pits of his stomach, something so vile and rancid that only serves to feed the dark weight that's constantly in his chest and bringing with it memories of a time he never wants to visit. Jihoon had repressed these thoughts for the longest time, had pushed it to the farthest corners of his consciousness to the point of non-existence that it would all but seem like he was over it by now. 

But he isn't. And no matter how hard he had tried to ignore these feelings in the past and how much he'd told himself that he is, the sharp grip it has on his heart is still the same as ever. And when a glint of gold catches the corner of his eye and he turns to where he's haphazardly placed his Oscar trophy on the table in his living room, something finally snaps in his brain and explodes in turmoil.

He gets up with a certain haste, grabs the trophy in his hand and stares at it for a solid minute. He watches his distorted reflection on the glimmering, gold sheen of metal, sees all that it represents and symbolizes in its entirety. His success, his fame; that he's well-loved and respected and recognized. Jihoon turns then to the shelf on the far wall of the living room, the glass-fronted case that holds all of the achievements his name holds. 

_"Are you really going to be this selfish?"_

The echo in his head makes him grip the Oscar in his hands harder and before he knows it, he's screaming at the top of his lungs and hurling the golden statue towards his trophy shelf. An explosion of shattered glass and Max's yelp of surprise fill the room for a brief second before the subsequent wails drown any other sound entirely as Jihoon sinks back down to the floor in a pathetic heap.

His phone vibrates on his pocket to a new message from Jaehwan. And Jihoon doesn’t even bother reading the rather long message his hyung just sent and just types down a message of his own before throwing his phone to the side and finding solace in his dog for the millionth time.

 **_Jihoon:_ ** _hyung. I need help_

  
  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
  
  


It’s a couple of hours later, with the sun just starting to set on the skyline of Seoul when Jihoon finally resurfaces from the depths he’s sunken into and finds some semblance of calm. Max is on his lap, nuzzling over his thighs while Jaehwan sits beside him down on the carpeted floor of his living room. It’s quiet, eerily so considering he’s just dropped a bomb on his hyung that should at least warrant a reaction that's louder than his usual.

Regardless, Jihoon appreciates it. Because he’s sure as hell that there are probably a hundred questions racing inside Jaehwan’s head right from the moment he entered his apartment. Besides the fact that there’s a whole hazard of a mess right in front of them where his trophy shelf lays in a ruin, there’s also the issue of the state he was in that greeted Jaehwan the moment he came by. Jihoon peeks a little to his right then, sees the wet patch on the left shoulder of his hyung's shirt starting to dry from the tears he had shed earlier. He takes a couple more breaths for good measure before finally deciding to break the silence.

“You’re allowed to talk, you know,” he says in jest, setting an air of casualness in the room even if it comes out a little forced.

“Sorry, I’m just—” Jaehwan shakes his head a little, clamping and releasing his lips from between his teeth as he does. “I guess I’m still trying to process this.”

Jihoon nods, drawing his mouth in a tight line as he faces forward again. He understands, and he guesses that the only reason he’s fishing a little for words from his friend right now is the fear that the longer they stretch the silence, the higher the chances he’ll just run away from the conversation all together. Thankfully though, or so he thinks, Jaehwan doesn’t stay quiet much longer when he lets out a small sigh and says,

“So...you and Daniel, huh?”

Hearing his name spoken in the most casual of tones still sends a prickle of bolts straight to his chest that leaves him trembling. But Jihoon swallows it down, tries his best to suck it up and nods. It doesn’t slip past Jaehwan though, who turns in his place and faces him fully.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Hoon. I understand—”

“No.” Jihoon exhales, hard and abrupt before shifting his tone to a softer note. “I mean...it’s good that we’re talking about it. I think it’s about time I did, so just...go ahead and ask me anything.”

The look Jaehwan gives him then tells him that it doesn’t really sit well with him, but he eventually gives a small nod of understanding in respect to his wishes. It’s another couple of silent seconds before he gets asked the first question.

“How long?”

Jihoon closes his eyes and takes a lungful of air at, letting the question sink in along with the wash of memories that flow with it. It’s a little overwhelming, but not so much that it renders him completely speechless. “It started as early as Produce, but...I only ever asked him and made it official the night after we debuted at our first concert.”

The memory flashes across his mind’s eye like it was only yesterday; that moment of exhilarated adrenaline on their way down the stage when he pulled Daniel in a secluded corner at their first concert venue, when he watched his hyung’s ears turn red in the darkness before capturing the smile that broke out of his face with his lips. As tempted as he is to look at Jaehwan’s expression after he answers, he just settles with the unknown beneath the blackness of his eyelids and waits for the next one to come at him.

“Does anyone else know?”

That’s an easy one at least, and it doesn’t bring about the same stinging image as the first. “I almost told Woojin...and I believe Daniel considered telling you and Seongwu-hyung at one point. But...no. We ended up keeping it a secret. We both agreed it was better that way.”

And he never regretted that decision. Jihoon didn’t want to affect their team and he knew the same sentiments applied for Daniel too. It was hard, sure—since most of the moments in their relationship happened within the privacy of their dorm rooms and the four walls of the hotels they stayed at while out on tour—but it wasn’t impossible. They still snuck out and went on dates together under the pretense of ‘hanging out’, they enjoyed each other’s company, and they made the best of the privacy instead of letting it be a hindrance. Jihoon’s never regretted any of that and in fact, even found a means to see it as something special; something that only the two of them were able to share.

“What happened?”

As easy as it was to answer and go through the previous question, the inevitable one that Jaehwan asks him now comes at him like a speeding bus ramming him across a busy road. Jihoon has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from choking on the sob he feels rising up his throat and remain stable. He’s shed enough tears in the last couple of hours alone to get him through this and he doesn’t plan on weeping any more than he has to.

“Our company found out,” he says flatly, hoping the bitterness doesn’t seep off too much from his tone. “And it happened just a couple of weeks before our last concert too. Management called us in and told us that they’ve been watching us for a while before they finally thought to confront us about it.”

There has only been a couple of times in Jihoon’s life that he’s felt so helpless and small, but he thinks what happened that day goes right on top of the list. The tension of the memory must be obvious then, when Jaehwan’s brows are furrowed as he blinks at him; the worry in his voice ever-present. 

“Did they ask you to stop seeing each other?”

There’s a bit of bile souring his gut at that prospect, at the same time as the lingering weight in his chest presses strongly on his heart. He has to fight not to wince at the discomfort and plough his way through to even let out a response. In the end, all he can do is shake his head.

“They warned us about...the consequences of our actions,” he says, a bare whisper in the quiet of the room. “We were young and we were set to start our solo careers soon. Dating each other just...didn’t present a lot of pros that could outweigh the cons. They didn’t tell us to stop but they did ask us to rethink and reevaluate our decision of staying together. Our managers at the time said that if they were able to tell about us, then it was only a matter of time before the rest of the world did.”

The hand that’s currently not resting above Max’s fur clenches into an involuntary fist over at his own words, his nails digging hard on his palm as memories of that day start pouring out of the box he’s so diligently locked all these years. His body betrays him, and he feels something wet and warm start to slide down his right cheek again.

“I was the one who listened to what our managers told us,” Jihoon continues, forcing the words out painfully by the syllable. “I took in the risks and understood them...and I decided after the meeting that it wasn’t worth one taking. But Daniel…” He pauses, going ahead to wipe his face with the back of his hand and clearing his throat of some emotion. 

“He disagreed,” Jaehwan finishes for him, matching his somber tone. Jihoon can only nod.

“He wanted to fight for us...to fight for me. He said that he didn’t care if the world knew or if it affected our careers...that as long as we were together, we could overcome it.” Jihoon remembers that night in the most vivid of colors back in Daniel’s would-be apartment in Seoul after they moved out of their dorms. He remembers the quiet conversation that turned to yelled-out arguments, the raw accusations thrown his way and the awful words he spat back against them. He doesn’t forget about the tears—the ones that wouldn’t stop flowing from his eyes and the ones marking the look of hurt on Daniel’s face. It’s all imprinted in a permanent scar in his mind, a painful reminder of the choice he made that day.

“Daniel took it hard. He told me how incredibly selfish I was...how he felt betrayed that after everything we went through together, it looked like I didn’t feel the same way as he did for me.” He’s all but given up in holding back the tears now, and they flow down in quiet streams over his face when all he can focus on is keeping his voice level and steady. “I said my own share of hurtful words that night too and it just...didn’t end well. And everything just became so much harder the next few days because we were still a group and we still had to pretend like nothing was happening behind the curtains—in front of you guys and our fans.”

Jihoon recalls the couple of times Woojin caught him crying in their room. He supposes making excuses was probably the easiest part of the ordeal, what with their disbandment coming along and all, but the fact that everything coincided _with_ their disbandment just made it all harder. Never in his life has he ever experienced that moment of losing so much all at once.

“I can’t really speak for his actions after we broke up, but I always saw everything he did afterwards as something to rebel against me.” He continues, and he has to take deeper breaths now to fight through the crushing weight in his chest. “Him cutting himself away from our group, burning bridges...and then that huge issue with his drinking that got him into all that trouble with the public.”

It seems that everything that has to do with Daniel has left streaks and scars even in the farthest reaches of his consciousness. Jihoon can still remember all the headlines and news articles—the scandals that the media had a field day for. Bar fights and public misconducts, drug abuse and blown-out lawsuits; even the one-night stand scandals and leaking nude photos. Daniel pretty much had everything covered.

“He destroyed _everything_ about himself—up until the moment he disappeared from the face of the earth...and it was all because of me.” His voice comes out in a weak whisper now, so low that it’s as if he’s merely talking to himself. “I know that I shouldn’t blame myself, and I know that everything he did back then was _his_ choice—but I can’t help it.”

He looks up to the mess in front of him, the shattered glass and the handful of trophies that litter his broken shelf. In a way it resembles him, albeit in a twisted sense—famous and accoladed, charming and successful, but grossly situated on a seat that’s fragile if not already broken.

“It’s all my fault, and yet I’m the one who gets to have everything and _so much_ more.” The rhetoric falls heavy on him. He’s never talked about this with anyone, let alone even finished the thought process to himself in his own head. Saying it out loud now is giving him a dreadful sense of liberty. “Sometimes I feel like I deserve getting all these anxiety attacks. Like it’s the price I have to pay for the good things I have now.”

That gets him a frown, and from Jaehwan it comes off as stern with a hint of worry. “Nobody deserves to feel that way Hoon-ah. Especially you.”

He lets out a derisive snort in response. As much as he wants to believe that, it’ll just end up being another lie he tries to tell himself on a daily basis.

“Have you tried talking to him?” Jaehwan follows up, and Jihoon would probably regard it as sarcasm if it weren’t for the genuine tone of curiosity his friend makes—no matter how absurd the question sounds.

“The last time we had a proper conversation together was actually the night we broke up,” Jihoon says with a shake of the head. “I think we’ve kind of established an unspoken rule to never talk to each other again after that. And besides, I don’t really think talking to him would make much of a difference with my situation.”

Jaehwan tilts his head a little to the side with that, his brows dipping slightly when he asks, “Why not?”

And as obvious as Jihoon thinks the answer is to that particular question, he surprisingly comes up blank. His mouth hangs open with unformed words as he faces his hyung in disquiet contemplation.

“I know I’m not in a position to tell you this, seeing as I haven’t exactly tried communicating with him either,” Jaehwan continues over his silence, nodding to him. “But it’s been six years, Hoon-ah. And if you ask me, I actually think talking to him would help—if not a lot, then at least in some way.”

Jaehwan bridges the gap then, reaching over and placing a hand over his shoulder in warm comfort; giving him a gentle squeeze of encouragement. “The fact that you’ve held on this long on the memories you two had means he’s more important to you than you think...and maybe it’s time you stopped blaming yourself and started doing something about it.”

Jihoon turns to look at him then, taking in his words and lets it flow through his system. It doesn’t take away the weight in his chest by any means, but it does lift the mass up to a point where he doesn’t feel like it’s completely crushing him. Jaehwan’s right, and as he nods and leans to rest his head on his shoulder once again, he’s reminded of how lucky he is to have him here. And maybe he still has a tremendous amount of steps to take before he can finally breathe easy, but for the first time in a long time he assures himself that he’s going to be okay.

“Thank you, hyung.”

  
  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
  
  


Jihoon taps a few buttons on the LCD screen of the dashboard monitor in his car, making sure he’s driving down the right roads. He’s probably memorized the address by now in his head word for word, but he double checks the GPS anyway until he’s certain. He has about a few couple meters left before he reaches the destination marked by the red pin on the screen; ten minutes away it says on one corner of the panel, which only serves to speed up his already racing heart up another level.

He takes a deep breath to calm himself, drawing his eyes away from the monitor and focusing on the road with bleak hyperawareness. He tries not to listen to that one voice at the back of his head that's telling him it's not too late to turn back and instead directs his attention to the more practical sounding echo telling him how much gas he's already spent on the drive from Seoul to Busan alone. It helps, surprisingly so, that his foot on the pedal doesn't even waver in the least.

The ten minutes don't exactly feel as accurate when Jihoon finally finds himself parking in front of the apartment complex he's also memorized the appearance of based on the street view photos from Google. He doesn't give himself time to linger inside the car any longer than necessary and immediately turns the key on the ignition and steps out. Doubt is just a tick away from being woken down where he's stored it in the far reaches of his mind and he's not about to let it control him anymore. So he adjusts the cap he has on and straightens his jacket before taking the first few steps towards the building.

He pulls his phone out, swipes and ignores all the notifications on the screen and opens up his chat log with Jaehwan. He checks the address again, steps inside the public lift and braces himself for what’s coming. He's doing good—if he may say so himself—and he doesn't feel troubled in the slightest at the idea of how near he is to him now as the elevator doors stop at his destination floor and he starts the walk down the corridors. And maybe it's the exact thought of him feeling okay that jinxes the entire thing, because once he sees the unit number on the door he’s driven all the way here for, he freezes.

The familiar chilling sensation of his blood turning cold courses through his veins like wildfire in a forest of kindling, and he knows without a doubt that the same pressing weight would soon grab at his chest again with its dark tendrils in minutes. The button to ring the bell is literally right in front of him, but as easy as the task presents itself to be, it becomes the complete opposite with a turn of a table. Jihoon all but breathes with his mouth then, taking steady lungfuls of air to keep himself from being overcome by his own emotions. It’s with a gargantuan amount of effort that he’s able to lift his hand from his sides and push himself to press the button a few beats later.

He hears the soft tone of the doorbell resounding from inside the house, and Jihoon bites his lips and counts the seconds in his head with anticipation and dread. His chest pounds and constricts at the heaviness starting to envelope him and again, the voice in his head screams out; louder this time, telling him to turn around, head back to his car and go home. His feet almost listen too, itching at the soles and trembling to make the run towards the elevator banks in the space of a heartbeat. And he almost does—almost falls trap to fear and hesitation if not for the sound of the lock turning followed by the swoosh of air when the door opens in front of him.

Whatever Jihoon was expecting to see does not even come close to what he actually sees on the other side of the door. For starters, it never once crossed his brain that he’d be facing to greet a small child that he has to tilt his head down a little just to meet eyes with. The surprise is so staggering that it all but knocks out every other feeling in him, including the pressing weight immobilizing him just now. Thoughts run around in a wild scramble in his head thinking if he got the address right—did he ring the right house? Is he on the correct floor? Did he get the wrong address? He trusts Seongwu enough but Jaehwan _does_ have a tendency to incur typos on all his messages. So did he type a number wrong when he sent—?”

“Hoon-ah? Who is it?” A clear voice calls from inside one of the rooms beyond the front door, and Jihoon’s heart dangerously jumps straight to his mouth for a second because for one, he _knows_ that voice from anywhere no matter how long it’s been and for it to call out his nickname is just a smidge away from giving him a seizure. It doesn’t though, not when the owner of the voice comes out in full view not a second later.

“Appa, I think it’s the guy from the movies,” the kid in front of him says with his head turned back to the apron-clad man in the hallway. The kid then turns back to him and asks him a question, but it completely flies off his field of comprehension because all his focus is now directed at the man the boy just called ‘appa’. The pressure he’s been driving on his lower lip releases as his mouth softly falls open while all his breath slowly escapes him. He only remembers to move and respond when the other man speaks again, this time _to_ him, with a word that never in his wildest dreams did he ever think he’d be able to hear again.

“Jihoonie. Hi.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


When Jihoon had first even decided in his brain that he was going to take the four-hour drive from Seoul to Busan, he didn’t expect all the rugs under his feet to be pulled away in a harsh tug of strange reality. Being let in to an apartment unit by a five-year old kid was one thing, and so is sitting in the small, three-seat dining room beside the kitchen with a glass of orange juice in front of him. Maybe he _is_ a little whack on the head because he currently can’t decide which of the two is a bigger blow of surprise.

“Hoonseok-ah, can you put away your toys first, please? I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

“I already did, Appa. I’m coloring now.”

“Can you color in your room then? You’re going to hurt your back sitting like that.”

“Appa I always color here. Can you stop being weird please?”

“I am _not_ being—! Okay, you know what? Okay. Just behave.”

The small apartment unit doesn’t really give way that much to privacy in conversation and sound, so Jihoon is at least slightly prepared when he hears Daniel stepping into the dining space again coming from the living room. What he isn’t prepared for, however, is the blinding smile he throws at him when he does. Six years have passed and it’s still the same as ever.

“Hey. Sorry about that. Umm, would you like some more juice?” Daniel asks him in a high-pitched voice that Jihoon only blinks at. His glass is still full and he hasn’t even taken a single sip of what he gave him earlier.

“Umm—”

Daniel notices in the next second, and Jihoon swears he sees his ears turn a deeper shade of red from the one it’s currently at. “Oh. S-sorry. I, uhh—”

“I-it’s okay. You don’t have to get me anything. It’s fine.” It’s funny how he doesn’t sound too far from the same nerve-wracking state Daniel is obviously in, and Jihoon would probably laugh a little about it too, that is if he can.

“Right. Okay.” Daniel nods and takes the seat across from him, both his hands going down underneath the table and between his legs. In the fifteen minutes Jihoon’s spent in here, it’s only now that he gets a good look at him under the warm light of the dining room. Not much has changed, he sees, save for the slight stubble on his chin and the few pimple scars that lightly dot his cheeks that would otherwise be deemed unacceptable if he were meeting him in the same circumstances as the last time they saw each other. He’s put on a little weight too, but not much, and all in all he’s still the same Daniel. 

“Stop staring at me like that,” he says shyly, breaking Jihoon from his trance with a slight chuckle. “I know I look terrible.”

“What?” That pushes out a natural reaction from him, a sardonic tilt of an eyebrow and a small upturn just shy of a full smirk. “No you don’t, what are you talking about? You look amazing.”

And because it’s the natural reaction, any filter that should've stopped the words from coming out in the way it did ultimately fails and it’s now his turn to feel the tips of his ears heating up.

“I-I mean—you look...good. Healthy, nice...umm—” Jihoon bites his lips to shut himself up, and the soft, breathy chuckle Daniel lets out just sends an arrow straight to his chest.

“You look good too. Really good,” he says without a hint of farce. And Jihoon swears his stomach does _something_ unnatural at the words so he goes and takes his first sip of the orange juice. It’s fresh.

“Thanks.” Jihoon clears his throat when his voice comes out thick, and he’s sure he’s definitely nodding way more than necessary at this point. “Umm...sorry for dropping by unannounced. I hope I’m not intruding on anything.”

“No, of course you’re not. It’s fine.” Daniel shakes his head, a little too vigorously, if Jihoon were to say so himself. It doesn’t sound _fine_ by any means, but he keeps that remark to himself and swallows the sarcasm down along with his nerves.

“So...umm, how have you been?” It’s a pretty generic question that’s really the best one to start with at this point, but the weight of it comes down with enough mass to completely flatten the air around the room. Maybe it’s just him, or he hopes so at least, seeing as Daniel doesn’t seem at all fazed by it in any way.

“Good, good. I’ve been—good,” he says, nodding twice with a wide smile on his face. “Things are...pretty normal, I guess? I mean, normal as compared to...well, you know—in the life of a non-celebrity.”

“Right.” Jihoon nods, hoping that he didn’t come off as offending with his question. “Umm, so what do you do now? I mean—uhh, if you don’t mind me asking. You don’t have to answer if you don’t—”

“It’s fine, Jihoonie.” Daniel flashes him a small smile, an amused breath escaping through his nose as he takes in the reins. “It’s-uhh, probably not as exciting as what you’re doing, but I’m actually running a cafe now.”

“Oh. Really?” Jihoon doesn’t miss the way Daniel says that with pride and barely obscured excitement that he can’t help it himself to be genuinely piqued by curiosity. “Is it like, you own business, a franchise, or...?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda my own thing. ”Daniel beams in sheepish warmth, a slight shrug of his broad shoulders punctuating his words. “I-uhh, just opened a couple of months ago actually. It’s nothing too fancy, but it’s not too bad either. And it’s just a couple of blocks from here too, near Hoonseok’s school.”

“Ah,” is all Jihoon can say, doing his best to swallow the information. “You must’ve been busy then. I’m sorry again for dropping by so out of the blue like this, I didn’t know you had a—” He bites his tongue, not wanting to finish that statement by almost saying the word _kid_. It’s a good thing he’s an actor, and improv is something that just comes natural in situations like these. “—thing. 

Okay so maybe his acting skills aren’t all that polished right now, but at least Daniel doesn’t seem to mind or even notice his stumble. “No, it’s fine. Really. I rarely work evening shifts anyway, and I just came back from picking Hoonseok up from school and was literally just making dinner. It’s no problem.”

Jihoon nods, his eyes inadvertently travelling to the living room to where Daniel’s son sits on the carpet with his coloring book on the coffee table—oblivious and unmindful of the buzz, awkwardness, and fleeting jitters currently happening just a few feet away from him. Jihoon’s almost jealous.

“He looks like you.” He finds himself saying, yet again without any filter to watch his words. He only even realizes that he’s said the thought aloud when Daniel gives him a shy look of understanding.

“Yeah, everyone says that,” he says, bashful in the way his hands come up to rub the back of his head in an age-long habit Jihoon’s used to seeing from before. “I’m glad my looks are the only things he got, to be honest. I don’t know how I’d survive if he was even half as hard-headed as I was.”

“You’re not _that_ bad,” Jihoon says with a laugh, the sound of it so natural that it almost sounds foreign to him. “You would’ve raised him right either way.”

Daniel gives him that blinding smile again sans the teeth and turns to look at Hoonseok too. And Jihoon swears the fondness radiating off of him in that moment almost borders on a physical level.

“He’s a fan, you know,” Daniel says, quiet enough only for him to hear with a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “He’s watched every one of your movies, and he always gets excited whenever we see a new poster of you on the bus stops.”

“Really?” It throws down something warm in his chest that immediately brings up a smile on his face, a pleasant kind of surprise he hasn’t felt in the longest time relating to his craft. “What’s his favorite?”

“Blood Rising,” Daniel says with confidence, and no sooner does it come out of his mouth does Hoonseok speak up from the living room.

“That’s _your_ favorite Appa! Mine is the movie with the dragons!” 

Daniel bites down the sheepish smile that erupts from his lips at that, but it ends up as a soft laugh either way that has Jihoon joining along.

“Blood rising is one of my favorites too—I mean if I get to pick one," he says, drawing a small smile in return.

“You were a really cool vampire slayer, what can I say?” Daniel nods, pursing his mouth in a shy line. “Oh and speaking of movies. Congratulations on winning at the Oscars by the way.”

The pleasantness of the situation takes a sudden plunge with the mention of that, abruptly tugging down at the smile on Jihoon’s face and hitting a sensitive spot deep in his chest. ‘“You know about that?” He asks, hoping his tone doesn’t sound too far off and ominous as he suddenly feels. 

“The entire country knows about it, Jihoonie. Of course I do.” Daniel rolls his eyes in mock affront, more amused than offended. “Hoonseok and I even live-streamed the awards show right here. We watched your speech and everything.”

“Oh. Umm...thank you.” It’s just surprise after surprise with him it seems, so much that Jihoon is starting to feel a little winded in trying to keep up. Knowing the fact that Daniel has been watching his films _and_ his night at the Oscars is just another thing to add to the list, and although it doesn’t really say much with regards to just how well Daniel’s been keeping up with stuff about him, it’s still way better than the years Jihoon had to live not knowing anything about him in comparison.

“Are you not happy that you won?”

The question snaps him out of his thoughts and brings to light the one of the biggest concerns he’s been juggling by himself ever since he got back to Korea. It’s a little unnerving—and strangely gratifying, in a sense—that Daniel can tell in just the few minutes they’ve already spent together..

“Of course I am,” Jihoon answers with a matter-of-fact tone in response, only for him to get a stifled laugh that borders on familiarity. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, just…” Daniel trails off, looking down at his lap and shaking his head lightly. When he meets his eyes again, there’s a small hint of understanding on his features that tells of just how much the statement doesn’t fool him. “I guess I can still kind of tell whether you’re acting or not.”

He can see through his lies, is what he means. Jihoon cuts his gaze and looks down as well. He has nothing to say to that.

“Well, regardless,” Daniel continues, brushing away the minor blow of dead air. “I just wanted to pass my congratulations. I’m proud of you, Jihoonie.”

It hits at the same sore-spot in him, the words jumbling up his emotions and taking him for a ride. He doesn't know whether it's tired him out or if his mouth filter really isn't functioning today because the next thing he says is the first phrase that finally takes them away from small talk territory.

“Do you really mean that?”

Daniel only blinks at him, a little confused but Jihoon can tell with utmost ease that his guard is also going up.

"Why wouldn't I?" 

There's quite a lot to say in regards to that, stuff that Jihoon doesn't really want to drag out and put on the table; especially not in Daniel's own home while his kid is sitting just a few feet away from them. So he settles with something relatively safe that still drives his point across.

"I guess...I just didn't think you'd even be interested in anything I do anymore. Movies and all," he says as he stretches his lips in a taut smile, anxious. "I mean, the last time we talked didn't exactly—umm…" He trails off, but the look on Daniel's face tells him that he doesn't really need to say much more than that. The regret is instant when Jihoon sees his eyebrows starting to dip.

"S-sorry. I didn't mean to bring up the past. I just—"

"No, it's okay." Daniel instantly softens and flashes him a reassuring smile that’s nothing but warm. “I mean...I assume that’s why you came all the way here in the first place, right?”

Jihoon clamps his lips shut and hangs his head a little in shame. The way Daniel puts it, he sounds like a pathetic and estranged ex barging into his cozy little home out of the blue and disrupting his peaceful Thursday evening. And come to think of it, isn’t he? Considering that line of thought now is making him realize just how different the situation is than he had initially perceived it to be. Jihoon’s always thought he was the lucky one, the one who got away with all the glamour of fortune and fame that came with his job—but is that really the case here?

Daniel has his own home and his own _family;_ even a business for himself that he’s proud of. He looks to be just about the same bright and happy person Jihoon loves ( _loved,_ he corrects himself) with nothing to drastically bother him. Daniel doesn’t look like he takes sleeping pills to force his body to shut down every night. He doesn’t look like he gets random anxiety attacks throughout his day or cries his eyes out in weakness either. He doesn’t need to hide under beautiful masks and aesthetics because he generally doesn’t look tired or stressed or seemingly worried about anything. Between the two of them, who’s really the lucky one here?

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon says before he can stop himself, earning him a confused tilt of the head as the words drift heavily in the air between them.

“Hoon...I told you, it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not that.” He lets out a small sigh and chews on his lower lip for a few seconds, setting his heart straight before speaking again. “I mean, from before...the things I said to you. For what happened between us. I’m sorry.”

“Jihoon.” Daniel’s voice is soft and warm, the exact opposite of what Jihoon thinks he deserves to be hearing. “You don't have to apologize for that. What happened wasn’t your fault, or at least not yours alone.”

“Isn’t it, though?” He snorts, his shoulders falling in a defeated sort of shrug. “'Cause lately...I'm starting to think that maybe I was wrong that day. What you said to me back then...about how selfish I was. Maybe you were right all along."

That shuts Daniel up of anything positive to reassure him, and for a while he just looks on and stares back with an unreadable expression on his face. The room turns quiet and it's a little fetid, but he eventually lets out a breath through his nose in a quiet sigh.

"Do you regret it?" He asks, and Jihoon can only blink up at him—confused. 

"Regret what?"

"Your choice that day." Daniel nods once, alluding to his earlier point. "Do you regret breaking up and going after your dreams?"

An immediate answer doesn't come to him, and Jihoon’s left with his mouth hanging slightly open as he considers the question thoroughly. He thinks back to their time together and the time apart, playing both scenarios in his head in as clear an image as possible in his head. If he were to be truly honest with himself, both planes neither present a better nor worse picture quality than the other. They have the same amount of heartracing joy and mind numbing pain, the same trials and deficiencies and points to be happy and sad about. Equal in every sense.

“No...no I don’t.” He shakes his head, and as guilty as it makes him feel that he _still_ stands by this choice of picking his career over his relationship with Daniel, he feels immensely lighter in his candor. He realizes then that the choice itself isn’t really the problem—and maybe that’s what Daniel has been trying to say all along.

“You choosing yourself over us doesn’t make you any more selfish than me wanting to keep us together at the time,” Daniel says with a small smile, a stark contrast to the memory he’s referring to. “We didn't break up because of you, Hoonie. We broke up because...the timing was terrible and we both wanted different things for ourselves. And having said that, it wasn’t fair of me to imply that either of the choices we had to make that day morally outweighed the other." He pauses, a soft breath of a chuckle leaving his lips. "I should be the one apologizing to you, really.”

Jihoon lets that sink in. He’s never really been able to look back at what happened without automatically blaming himself for it, and finding a different angle now lifts some of the weight that’s pummeling his chest and quashing down on his shoulders. Daniel is right.

“I guess I always just kind of blamed myself for what you went through afterwards,” Jihoon says without pause, speaking his heart out now in waves of complete honesty. “No matter how much I tried to tell myself that I shouldn’t, the guilt just never went away.”

Daniel nods, breaking eye contact to stare at his hands. “I didn’t know you cared about me that much,” he says, his tone feathery light and bashful.

“Of course I did.” Jihoon says with surprising conviction, his heart beating along with the words. “I still do.”

Daniel smiles at him, a soft tug on the left corner of his lips that form the subtlest of smirks. “I'm sorry for making you worry all this time then. I admit that I...made some terrible choices back then. All of which I regret of course, but—" He pauses, turning his head a little to the side to where Hoonseok is busy with his coloring book in the living room. The same physical fondness from earlier graces his features again, radiating off his entire person in waves of undiluted affection. "I don't think I mind where those choices brought me though. I'm happy to be where I am now, and I learned for quite some time now not to live with too much regret anymore.” He looks at him then, the sincerity seeping off of him. "And I guess seeing you succeed helped a little in that aspect too. So yeah, I meant what I said—I really am proud of you, Jihoonie. And I’m glad you’re doing well for yourself.”

Hearing Daniel say that does something to him; a kind of feeling he can most liken to when he’s on that high-speed roller coaster at Lotte World and he gets to the part of the ride where the rails drop him at the precipice of a fall towards an exhilarating track. That out-of-body lurch that flips his entire soul upside down and back again, leaving him buzzing and weightless.

He feels something get knocked out of him as the full force of Daniel’s words make their way down to his system; something he can’t exactly put his finger on but is still certain of nonetheless. There's a prickle behind his eyes that's similar to the feeling of tears wanting to come out but they don't, and instead comes a wash of warmth that involuntarily stretches his lips into a smile that he can’t control.

“What?” Daniel asks him, laughing a little at his amused sort of silence. 

“Nothing, it’s just—” And that’s when Jihoon realizes it, this strange sensation blossoming out of the depths of his chest; the impact of which comes at him so hard that it literally takes all his breath away. He remembers what this feeling is—this unique rush of warm butterflies and fluttering happiness. It’s the same feeling he got after he locked eyes with Daniel all those years ago when they bowed to their fans after their very first concert. It’s no different from all the times he’s been on the receiving end of surprise kisses in not-so-discreet locations while they’re out working or hanging out together. It’s the exact same thing as that moment in a hotel in Australia during their tour; when they were both lying in bed, completely spent from exploring each other’s bodies and with only a single blanket to cover their bare nakedness as they cuddled into every inch of space together right before someone whispered the first _I love you_ in the darkness.

It’s Daniel. This feeling is genuinely and irrevocably all _Daniel_. It’s been more than six years since Jihoon's felt even a single note of this sensation and yet it still manages to hit him in the exact same way; an undeniable reminder that no matter the distance and time the world pits at them, the love he feels can never change.

"Thank you," he says thickly, his voice full of unspoken emotion. "That really means a lot, coming from you.”

The smile Daniel gives him then is astoundingly bright that it’s nearly impossible not to catch and copy it himself. The silence that follows them now is much more comfortable than before, with the air around the apartment exuding the coziness it so aptly represents. The moment is only ever broken by the soft beeping sound of an alarm coming from the room behind them.

“Oh! That must be the jjigae! Give me a sec.” Daniel gets up then, heading to the kitchen in light haste. Jihoon watches his broad figure with a soft gaze before getting up himself to follow, coming to stand under the doorway and watching in casual amusement. 

“Ah, that’s good.” Daniel mutters to himself when he brings a spoon of the dish to his mouth. He spots where Jihoon is standing in an instant and gestures for him to come inside. “Come here, I want you to taste it.”

And Jihoon doesn’t really know if it's the inherent lightness coursing through his body at the moment or the pure domesticity of Daniel's offer, but he finds himself following anyway. He walks over next to him at the stove, opening his mouth for the spoon before Daniel feeds him chastely.

"Mmm. You're right, it's good," he says, earning him a wide grin in return. Daniel's always been a good cook, and it's heartwarming to see him in a state he used to be privy to back when they were together.

"Let me just get this ready and set the table. We can start eating in about five—” Daniel pauses in his rambling, his eyes landing on Jihoon’s gaze before a douse of understanding marks the planes of his features. “Is there any way I can convince you to stay for dinner?" He asks with more hope than Jihoon had expected, although the expression he holds on his face as he asks that tells him that he already knows the answer he's going to get.

"I still have a long drive ahead of me. Maybe next time." As much as Jihoon wants to say yes and spend more time with him, he knows it's not his place anymore to impose much more than he already has. He still has to tamp down a bit of disappointment, however, when Daniel nods.

"I'll walk you to the door then."

He couldn't have put on his shoes any slower once they reach the foyer, but Daniel doesn't say anything on the obvious matter of him stalling for time. It’s funny, when both of them want to cling to what they can’t have even if it’s something they both want for themselves. When Jihoon's all up and ready to go, they stare at each other for a long minute before one of them breaks the silence. 

"Sorry again for popping up unannounced like that," Jihoon says, an involuntary hand flying to scratch the top of his head in an undying habit. "Thanks for having me."

"And for the millionth time, Hoonie. It’s fine. You're more than welcome to come visit anytime, it's no problem," Daniel says with a soft, breathy laugh, keeping the air light with his natural persona. "And hey, maybe I can show you to my cafe the next time you're in town. It'll be good for business to say that _the_ Park Jihoon visited the place."

Jihoon nods and smiles to that, and he doesn't let himself dwell too much on the fact how he and Daniel both know the unlikeliness of his suggestion. Instead he pretends for a little while more and rides along the fantasy, savoring the moment for what it is. 

“It was really nice seeing you again,” Jihoon says in lieu of an _'I missed you'_ , and it takes everything in him not to come forward and hug or do something tactile when Daniel's smile softens into that puppy-glazed look he's so familiar with.

"It was nice seeing you too, Jihoonie," he says, and the touch barrier is broken anyway when Daniel, being the kind of person that he is, gives him a warm pat on the shoulder. It lingers a few seconds longer than what can pass off as a friendly pat, but Jihoon doesn't complain. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

He nods then, and he's just about to turn around when a sudden yelp of 'wait!' coming from the hallway stops him. Daniel's son comes running to them, holding a folded sheet of paper in his hands. 

"What is it Hoon-ah?" Daniel bends down a little to his son’s level when Hoonseok tugs on his arm, cupping his small hands over his mouth and whispering something in his ear. Daniel's smile just grows, rather wickedly, by so.

"Why don't you give it to him yourself?" He says, earning him a shy whine and a small pout of please.

"Alright, alright." Daniel takes the paper Hoonseok is holding and comes to stand again before offering it to Jihoon with hidden glee, "Hoonseok says he wants you to have this."

"Oh." Jihoon can only blink, staring at the paper for a few seconds before taking it in his hands. He unfolds it slowly, revealing the page of the coloring book Hoonseok was busy coloring earlier; a roughly colored image of a cartoon whale at sea, breaking through the surface of the water and smiling wide at the sun shining above it as if it's greeting a friend. 

A surge of the same warmth travels through his veins when he takes his eyes off the artwork to look at Hoonseok, who's partially hiding behind Daniel's long legs with bashful anticipation on his face. Jihoon bends down to his level then, manifesting the warmth he’s feeling into an expression of gratitude as he extends a hand and raises the drawing in front of him.

"Did you make this just now?" He asks softly, getting him a shy nod in return. Jihoon’s heart almost melts from the sheer image of his little hands clutching onto Daniel’s pant legs at that. “Nobody has ever given me a drawing of a whale before. You’re the first one.”

He can see the small tug on the corner of Hoonseok’s lips, small and hesitant with excitement when he asks, “Really?”

“Mhmm.” Jihoon beams at him, nodding in earnest. “I love it. You’re a very good artist, Hoon-ah. Thank you.”

His teeth flash out in a wide grin then, bunching his face tight and turning his eyes into happy crescents. He's definitely Daniel's son, and the resemblance is so uncanny that it catches Jihoon a little off-guard in that he doesn't really think to stop himself when he reaches out with his other hand to pat him on the head. 

"Be a good boy, okay? Always listen to your Appa...even if he's being a little weird sometimes," he says, chuckling lightly as Hoonseok eagerly nods into his touch. When Jihoon gets back up, he catches Daniel holding that same fond look on his face, all soft at the edges and filled with so much affection as he watches their exchange.

"Don't be a stranger, okay?" Daniel says, his tone just bordering on the edge of wistful hope. Jihoon smiles and nods to that before finally putting his hand on the door.

"Goodbye, Niel-hyung," he says one last time, turning around after and stepping out into the corridor.

The tears come, as he's expected them to do so, once he's settled himself back in the privacy of his car. He doesn't wipe them away nor does he even attempt to stop them from falling; he just lets them flow freely down his face without worry or distress because for the very first time, the tears he's shedding actually feel _right._

Jihoon isn't crying because of the usual emptiness that accompanies him at times like these, not even in the slightest. He’s crying now because letting out the tears feel like an exhalation of sorts—like as if his body is expelling all of the thorns and sullied fluids that’s been stuck coursing through his system for the past six years into every teardrop sliding down his face. 

He looks at the drawing Hoonseok gave him, smiling as he somehow feels a general connection with the image on the paper. Because like the whale bursting out of the sea, Jihoon feels like he's finally broken the surface of the water himself; coming out to greet the smiling sun and taking his very first lungful of air after swimming in the darkest depths for so long. 

The weight in his chest is still there but strangely, despite the familiarity of its presence, it feels different altogether. It's weighted but it's not dragging him down; full, yet not nearly as suffocating. It's there but he doesn't mind it, and in a sense it actually even feels _good_ that it is. And whether or not Daniel's the catalyst for the change, Jihoon finds himself feeling all the emotions again that always come when thinking about his hyung. He keeps those wavelengths now instead of forcibly trying to drive them away, locks it up in his heart to feed this newfound bliss.

He only starts the car when the tears have all but left his eyes, fishing his phone out of his pocket in the process and shooting a quick text to Jaehwan. He gives the apartment complex one last look then, eyes glancing and lingering over one of the windows over at the upper floors just as the sun starts to set for the city and paints everything in gold. 

Jihoon doesn’t look back anymore as he drives away, completely okay with drowning in this new feeling and being able to breathe.

**_Jihoon:_ ** _hyung. I’ll be back in seoul before midnight. wanna grab some beer?_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Hoon-ah, come on and eat your broccoli.”

All he gets out of his gentle coaxing is an almost inaudible whine as Hoonseok pushes the few pieces of the green vegetables left on his bowl to the rim of his dish, ignoring his request.

"Hoon-ah." Daniel tries again, sighing. "I only gave you three this time. It's much lesser than yesterday and you ate that just fine."

"But broccoli are _yucky_." Hoonseok pouts at him, killing some of his resolve in persuasion. He sighs again, before an idea lights up in his head that makes him lean forward, elbows on the table.

"Hey, you wanna know a secret about your Uncle Jihoon?" Daniel says, smirking with pretense hidden knowledge. It gets the reaction he's fishing for when Hoonseok's eyes light up in an immediate response.

"What secret?"

"Hmm, I don't know. I'm not sure if I should tell you."

"Appaaa." Hoonseok pouts, and Daniel inwardly smiles in wicked glee for a successful catch on the line. 

"You have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?"

"I promise, I promise!"

His smile grows, but he tamps it down before it can turn into a huge grin as he speaks in a hushed voice full of hidden bravado. "Uncle Jihoon's favorite vegetables are broccoli."

It falls flat, and all Hoonseok does in response in the first few seconds after he says that is blink at him with disinterest. Maybe he's overestimated just how much his son really likes Jihoon in the first place in a humiliating example, or maybe he just doesn’t really care. Daniel’s even about to give up on the tactic for another one when Hoonseok suddenly picks up his fork again and puts a piece of the vegetable in his mouth. 

He tries not to smile _too_ triumphant when Hoonseok proceeds to finish all three pieces on his bowl and just says a silent apology in his head to Jihoon for the lie he’d just committed. He’s probably going to have to give a heads up when he sees Jihoon again and—

 _If,_ he corrects his own head. _If_ he sees Jihoon again, which he knows is about as unlikely as he’ll get his son to eat more broccoli in the future.

“Is Uncle Jihoon your best friend, Appa?” Hoonseok suddenly asks him, bringing him out of his reverie to see the curious look on the boy’s face. Daniel can only smile.

“Hmm? What makes you say that?”

Hoonseok just shrugs at him, a tiny upward jerk of his small shoulders. “You were smiling a lot earlier, and you laugh a lot too. You don’t usually do that.”

“What? Hey, I smile and laugh with you too, little mister!”

“That’s because you’re my Appa.” Hoonseok rolls his eyes as if what he said was about the most obvious thing in the world. “It's normal for you to do that with me, but I never see you do that with other people.”

It makes him pause a bit, hearing Hoonseok say that. It’s strange how the innocent observations of a five-year old is what ultimately makes him rethink and look back at how he actually interacts with the people around him. Daniel only has a small circle now—limited to his staff at the cafe, a few of their neighbors on the same floor and the other parents when he comes to pick up his son from school—but does he really behave like what Hoonseok is saying? It’s not that he doesn’t believe it, it’s just that the surprise shakes him a little since it's connected to Jihoon, of all people.

But then again, who better?

“So you’re my little detective now, are you?” Daniel chuckles then, smiling fondly as he tries to find words that Hoonseok will understand. “Well, I guess you can say that your Uncle Jihoon and I are best friends. But we haven’t really seen each other in a while until today, so I’m not sure if he still thinks that way about me.”

“Oh." Hoonseok blinks at him, a hint of disappointment coloring his tone. "Is it because he’s busy making movies?”

Daniel lets out a soft laugh, nodding at his son's innocence. “Yeah. And because I’ve been busy too. I have to run the cafe and take care of you," he says, clamping his lips afterwards in a line as he thinks about their past. “But don’t worry, Hoon-ah. Regardless of whether or not we’re best friends or if we see each other, he’ll always be someone special to me."

Hoonseok just stares at him, quiet and expressionless. And what at first looks like a blank look of confusion on his son’s face then morphs into something much more elaborate when the next set of words come out of his mouth.

"I think he's special too." Hoonseok nods, as if affirming the fact to himself. Daniel breathes out an amused breath, a hand going to his chin.

"Really? Is it because he makes cool movies?"

But he gets a shake of the head, and Daniel watches as Hoonseok turns a little to his side to point at the shelf located in between their dining and living rooms; the part of the shelf housing a few picture frames of captured memories.

"I think Uncle Jihoon is special because he makes you smile like in the pictures you have with Eomeoni,” Hoonseok says matter-of-factly, pointing to two photos in particular—both of which containing Daniel and a pregnant young woman, both smiling brightly for the camera, one taken during their wedding day and a more casual one by the beach. It tugs at something in his chest to think that Hoonseok, who never even had a chance to meet his own mother, could tell from the pictures alone just how different Daniel is from then now. 

“You really think so?” 

“Yup.” Hoonseok nods with confidence, a smile keeping itself plastered on his features. “I think you should tell Uncle Jihoon that he’s special, Appa. I think that would make him happy. Maybe he can come visit us again!”

“Woah, easy there tiger.” He chuckles out of fondness, shaking his head in cheerful disbelief. “It's...not that easy. Uncle Jihoon’s a busy man, remember?”

“I know.” He nods at him, his face all serious-business. “But if I was able to eat my broccoli, then you should be able to do this too."

As simplistic as that analogy goes in terms of how things are in reality, Hoonseok does make a solid point. Daniel can only give him a soft look then, right before he reaches across the table to ruffle his son's hair.

"Tell you what. If you promise to eat all of your vegetables whenever I make them, I promise I'll tell Uncle Jihoon that he's special. Deal?" He punctuates it with a smirk and a cocked brow, ignoring how his own sentence just made his heart skip a beat. He can see Hoonseok contemplating it, and Daniel only realizes that he may have just been played at his own game when Hoonseok begins to grin in the same triumph as he did earlier. His answer is a no-brainer.

"Deal!"


	2. Epilogue: Clean

"...and lastly, I just want to say thank you to every single person who has stood by me until now," Jihoon says with hard sincerity, clutching the microphone tight in between his hands. "I know I say this a lot to the point of redundancy, but I can't be any more honest than I am when I say that everything I have now is because if all of you—from the staff at Maroo who painstakingly makes sure I look my best all the time, and to my manager who's always there to keep me sane."

He chuckles along with the crowd as he says that, breathing in the lightness of the air inside the venue. "To my family, who sadly can't be here tonight, and to some of my friends—Jaehwan-hyung, Minhyun-hyung, and Woojin-ah—for taking time off your schedules just so you can share a stage with me tonight. And of course to everyone here, to my Mays; I wouldn't be standing here if it weren't for every single one of you so thank you, from the deepest crevices of my heart."

He drowns himself in the crowd's cheer and ends his ment there just as the final song for the night starts playing. He finishes flawlessly, riled up by the familiar adrenaline that can only ever come on the very last performance of an entire tour. He spends a good ten minutes more on stage after the last song ends; bowing, throwing kisses, and waving goodbyes to everyone that by the time he finally steps on the platform that'll bring him down the stage, the only feeling left coursing through him is a pleasant buzz lingering on the surface of his skin.

"Alright, alright! Good job everyone!" Comes the holler of one of his dancers as they huddle around together backstage. Jihoon joins in on their little celebratory cheering before excusing himself to head to his film staff. The final show of a tour is always the busiest and even if the performances are done, he still has behind-the-scenes footage to film and content to churn out before calling it a day.

It's a whirlwind that he's gotten used to by now that it doesn't really feel any more taxing than it actually is. And Jihoon ends up getting so busy that he only ever realizes the absence of one very important person when he's done shooting.

"Hey, have you seen hyung?" He calls the attention of one of the stylists, busy packing up the performance ensembles Jihoon's drenched his sweat on. 

"Oh, I think I saw him go to your dressing room earlier," she tells him before shuffling away to finish her work.

Strange—his manager isn't one to leave him without saying anything, even if it's just going to his dressing room to get something. He shrugs it off though and just puts it as part of the busyness happening backstage and heads to go find him.

His dressing room is empty when he gets there, and his stuff is still where he left it before they started the show. He runs through his head the multitude of other things his manager could be doing right now and just settles on leaving him to it, walking over to the vanity in the room to at least get started on removing some of his stage makeup. And it's only as he's pulled out a cotton pad from the dispenser that he notices what's inherently different in the room as compared to hours earlier.

There's a foot-long, rectangular box sitting on top of one of the tables near the couch set, silver-coated and glittering under the lights hitting its surface. The folded black card precariously taped on top of the lid tells him that it's probably a gift of some sort, which makes it less of a mystery than he'd initially perceived. It's not a first in any way and Jihoon's used to getting random flowers, gifts, and even treats whenever he finishes a show—usually coming from his parents.

So he foregoes his curiosity on the silver box and focuses first on swiping the makeup pad across his face in the methodical process of stripping down his stage persona. The mindlessness of the chore is commonplace and much too familiar to him now that it leaves him a little unguarded, which he supposes is a valid enough excuse as to why he jumps in surprise when a few harried knocks start erupting from the door. 

Jihoon heads to open it, binning his now-soiled makeup pad and fully expecting to see a staff member waiting for him on the other side of the door. What he gets, however, is something completely far out of his spectrum of comprehension and something much more stranger than his manager's absence. It’s definitely a much bigger surprise than the mystery box sitting on his table too, when what—or rather,  _ who— _ greets him renders him speechless. Standing in front of him, a good few feet below his line of vision, is a familiar five year-old clad in a soft, pink shirt and a wide grin.

"Uncle Jihoon!"

The cute exclamation removes any doubt he has of hallucinating as he returns the smile being thrown at him. He bends down to his level, putting a tentative hand on his shoulder as if still he's making sure he isn't dreaming.

"Hoonseok? What are you doing here?" He can't even keep the incredulity in his voice if he tried.

"I came to watch your show!" Comes his excited answer, the grin on his face growing. "You were really good Uncle Jihoon!"

Somehow hearing that from him expels a fair amount of the tiredness he's starting to feel, immediately replaced by a surge of warmth that’s not too unlike the adrenaline he was running on earlier. "Thank you, Hoon-ah. But how did you manage to get back here by yourself? Are your parents with you?"

That gets him a couple of confused blinks, right before his smile morphs into a tight line out of shyness that Jihoon instantly recognizes with stark familiarity—it’s the same face Daniel makes when he gets caught making trouble.

“I only have Appa, Uncle Jihoon. And I was with him earlier and we were supposed to wait for you inside your room to give your present.” Hoonseok starts to explain, his voice a mix of shame and pride in a bout of honesty. “But he started being weird again and wanted to leave without telling you! And I’ve been really good before coming here and even ate all the broccoli he gave me every time he made them!Sso I ran away when he wasn’t looking to run back here.”

And Jihoon was right, but the answer he just got definitely wasn’t what he had expected out of the boy’s mouth. He looks back inside his dressing room and eyes the silver box still sitting on his table before getting up and taking it with him to the doorway. 

“Is this from you, Hoon-ah? Did you get this for me?”

He gets an enthusiastic nod and a huge grin of joy. “Appa bought it. But I helped choose!”

Jihoon chuckles then, taking the card from the surface of the box and unfolding it to read the scrawled message inside. It brings a smile up his face, along with a sudden heat travelling from his chest to his neck and up to the sides of his ears. He’s pretty sure his face is probably bordering on creepy-ahjussi to Hoonseok by now as he tries to hold it in and—

“Hoonseok!!”

The voice echoes just around the bend of the hallway and sure enough, Daniel is there looking frantic with worry with his manager right behind him. Well that explains his current absence then, Jihoon thinks, but he doesn’t dwell on the thought very long when he gets up from the floor to face them as they walk over.

“Kang Hoonseok, what did I tell you about leaving my side in big places? You could’ve gotten lost!” Daniel focuses on his kid first, placing both hands on his little shoulders while Jihoon just watches in amusement and shares a knowing smile with his manager.

“But I didn’t get lost, Appa. And Uncle Jihoon was here when I came back.”

“That’s not the point. You can’t just go running off like that without me, do you understand?”

The answer comes in the form of a small pout and a quiet sigh of exasperation, cute. “Yes, Appa.”

Jihoon smiles at the father and son exchange before him, and when Daniel is finally reassured that there’s no harm to Hoonseok in any way, he gets up from the ground and gives him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about him. He’s just been way too hyperactive ever since we arrived for your show,” Daniel says, scratching his nape in the process. 

“It’s fine.” Jihoon nods, gesturing to the box in his hands. “He said he just wanted to make sure I got this since you were ‘being weird’ earlier and left it in my dressing room. And something about eating broccoli?”

The blush is unmistakable when Daniel’s ears visibly turn a few shades redder than what’s natural under the bright lights of the backstage hallways when he locks eyes with what Jihoon is holding. He just chuckles at him, and he’s not done embarrassing him so he whips out the card he’d been reading from just before he found them here.

“Hoonie, you’re still brighter than any galaxy this universe can ever hope to hold. I’ll forever be your number one stargazer. Love, Daniel-hyung.” Jihoon reads aloud, emphasizing the word he’d written in salutation. He laughs some more when he sees that Daniel’s face has now gone a deep pink, lips pursed tight in an unmoving line of embarrassment.

“I—umm…”

“No wonder you didn’t want to be here when I found this,” Jihoon says in jest, stepping closer into his space. “You’re still as cheesy as ever.”

And maybe it’s too soon, maybe it’s too rash and unmindful of all the little details of their still reconnecting dynamic, but Jihoon doesn’t think of anything anymore when he moves in and wraps his hyung in a hug that’s seven years overdue. His eyes may have gotten a little wet when he feels the same familiar arms wrap around his torso as well, but he doesn’t mind that either.

For the first time in forever, he finally genuinely feels like he’s lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world is kinda shitty right now and so much is happening, but I hope I was able to provide a bit of entertainment and maybe a few life takeaways with this.  
> You have no idea how cathartic it is to fully commit and bring an idea to life all the way through. It's absolutely one of my favorite parts about writing stories and I have you to thank for reaching all the way here. I'd hate to be redundant but really, thank you so, so much for reading! This ship is dead, our favorite duo doesn't even acknowledge each other's existence anymore, and ******'s still the idiot who burned his bridges, but I'm glad there are still people who I can share these stories with :)
> 
> please stay healthy and kind! (/◕ヮ◕)/

**Author's Note:**

> @eightleggedfox


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